


The Witch's Dawn

by doylefan22



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doylefan22/pseuds/doylefan22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Morgana was poisoned by Merlin, everything changed for her. The day she found out Uther was her father, everyone in Camelot became her enemy. But when Cenred takes Camelot from her and her beloved Morgause, Morgana is forced to work with those she believes hate her in order to save it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the paperlegends big bang challenge

When Vivienne was a little girl, no more than five, her father decked his armour, kissed her head and walked out the door.

 

“Be strong, little one,” he said with a sad smile before disappearing into the dark corridor.

 

It was early, just before dawn, and Vivienne was sleepy and unable to understand what was happening. Frightened, she cried out for her nursemaid but to her surprise her mother rushed in to her insisted, gathering her into her arms. She cradled Vivienne closely as she carried her through to her own chambers, answering her fear-filled questions as gently as she could. They were being attacked, a lord much respected in the kingdom had invaded her father’s lands. Even from here, Vivienne could hear the shouts of men and the clashing of swords. It was all too loud and too sharp and it made her cling tightly to her mother's nightgown. Her father was honourable and brave, her mother said, staying to defend his tenants and his family when he could have fled to safety.

 

He didn’t come back.

 

The neighbouring land owners had declared him weak, she later learnt, and so lent no aid. He was mocked and scorned at worst, pitied at best, and, despite his courage, he’d lost, overwhelmed by brute strength. The invader killed dozens of innocent villagers, beat Vivienne’s mother for weeping over her husband and raped her older sister, threatening to have all the children put to death if he was not obeyed.

 

Vivienne tried to be strong, like her father had told her to be, when she was eventually dragged down to the great hall and placed in front of the invader. The man was sitting in the seat her father once had, where she'd once been bounced on his knee and tugged playfully at his beard. The newcomer was a large, imposing man and he frightened into silence, leaving her trembling when he spoke to her.

 

"Will you obey me girl?" he demanded in a booming voice that made her want to cover her ears. "Or do you need lessons like your mother?"

 

She glanced briefly up at her mother's bruised face and shook her head, unable to muster any words. She was shaking too much.

 

The wedding passed by in a haze of confusion, Vivienne not sure why her mother was marrying the man.  
She asked her over and over, not understanding the world around her and needing so desperately to know why the father she loved had been taken away and how this cruel man had so easily assumed his place. This wasn’t like one of the stories she’d been told where good triumphed over bad. In the world she suddenly found herself in, the strong triumphed and the weak fell with no one to help them. Goodness didn’t come into it at all. It was a lie. It was a veil of weakness itself.

 

Years later, a woman grown, Vivienne recognized in Uther Pendragon what she’d come to know in her step-father. He was a man that other men admired and respected. This didn’t mean that he was a good man.

 

And now Uther had come to visit, forcing her to find a strength she wasn't sure she still possessed. Vivienne leaned heavily on her dresser as she lowered herself to the stool. Her own breath was loud in her ears and she felt as if she had just run up a flight of stairs, body aching and weary, feeling like that of a woman much more advanced in her years than she actually was. She reached out, trying not to look at the paper thin skin on her hands, willing strength in them still. She drew a necklace out from the small chest on the dresser. It was a beautiful piece, a dark gold highlighted with onyx and amethyst. The flowers and leaves they created were belladonna, supposedly the flower of beautiful ladies. Those that were loyal to the Old Religion knew it as a symbol of death and deception.

 

Vivienne’s childhood had been filled with terror. A once bright child, the longer she saw the cruelty of her new step-father go unpunished, the more her belief in a just world had been shaken and the colder and more frustrated she became inside. She remembered feeling helpless as she realised she was no more than a pawn in a game played by men she despised. Men who would use her for their own needs and gains when the time came whether she desired it or not. Vivienne came to hate the world around her and wanted nothing to do with it, preferring to hide in her chambers, pretending to be weak and sickly so she that didn’t have to go out and witness any more brutality.

 

One dark night she wondered what it might be like to climb out on her high windowsill and take that one fateful step forward. Whether she would feel alive again before the final blow came.

 

It was the Old Religion that had saved her. She was nearly a woman before she realised her abilities, few as they were: glassware shattered when she was angry and flowers wilted when her tears touched them. She adored plants, almost believing she could hear them singing inside her head, filling her room with them because they calmed her. She recalled the stories her nursemaid had told her about the Old Religion, about the powers that the priestesses and sorceresses held. She almost couldn't bring herself to believe it at first, having felt weak and powerless for so long. When she finally admitted it, her nursemaid had smiled broadly, immediately taking her to see the High Priestess. All would be better now, she promised.

 

The woman was tall and imposing but in a far different way than her step-father was. She made Vivienne feel safe. She held out her hand and called her 'her child', welcoming her and blessing her. Showing her that there was another way. It had once been the way of her mother too, she was told. Forgotten and neglected as happiness had crumbled around them. As her mother became weak and let others rule over her.

 

In the Old Religion there was balance; lives were exchanged for lives and nature prevailed. In the Old Religion, women were respected and powerful, even ones with such small abilities and talents as Vivienne came to discover that she possessed. They were certainly not seen as mere political tools, fit to be married off to the richest and most persuasive suitor. It gave Vivienne solace and the means to be strong.

 

She never stepped out onto that window ledge.

 

Now Vivienne put the necklace on, finding it gave her strength, her fingers trailing over it as she gazed at her reflection. Death and deception. Not that Uther would realise, of course. He used the Old Religion the same way that he used everything and everyone else: exactly how it suited him and without any consideration. Unlike her husband who respected her ways and beliefs.

 

Apart from her father, Vivienne had only met one truly good man and she was fortunate enough to have married him. Too often she told Gorlois that he deserved better than her: a softer wife, one who didn’t hold such bitterness and anger in her heart. He simply kissed her cheek and replied that he had a strong wife. One fit for a king.

 

Those words were once a soft joke between them in happier times but now they made her stomach turn, her face barely able to force a shadow of the smile they’d once brought on. Lately, Gorlois had stopped saying them, leaving her both relieved and saddened.

 

Still, she thought coldly as she struggled to rise from her dresser, she wouldn’t have to feel anything for much longer. Every day was harder, every morning a greater chore. She’d been so weak after her daughter’s birth that the midwife hadn’t thought she’d survive at all, declaring it a miracle when she awoke two days later. She’d disagreed, secretly thinking that it was a curse, an extension to her suffering when she’d just wanted it at an end.

 

Her husband had been overjoyed when she’d discovered that she was pregnant, making the secret burden she had to bear all the more painful. Nine months of hell had followed, each moment an inescapable reminder of what had happened, and she’d prayed everyday to the old gods to take her life as she brought her child into the world. A life for a life, freeing her and the infant, giving it a chance to live without such an embittered mother. But when she’d finally regained her senses after the birth and had seen Gorlois cradling the tiny girl, a softness almost forgotten had crept into her heart. It was the best reward she could give him for all his kindness, she decided, seeing that utter happiness on his face. But he could never know the truth and the burden of hiding it rested heavily on her heart.

 

Things hadn’t been quite as hard as she’d imagined though. When she’d first been handed her daughter she’d tensed, expecting something akin to revulsion almost, tainted by the manner in which the girl had come into being. Yet there was nothing but love, the tiny dark haired bundle settling in her arms and looking at her with the bluest eyes. She saw nothing of her father in her and hoped that she never would.

 

She had named the girl Morgana. Gorlois had liked it, taking it to mean ‘sea born’ what with their manor being on the coast. Vivienne hadn’t correct him, although she meant it in tribute to The Morrigan, the great queen, the goddess of battle. She wanted her daughter to be strong.

 

Unlike her mother after all it seemed. Even as the years had passed, Vivienne hadn’t recovered like the midwives had hoped she would. At first Gorlois had spoken of having more children, a son to inherent his father’s lands and care for his sister’s wellbeing. Vivienne had indulged such thoughts, knowing them to be fantasies. She would be lucky if she lived to see her daughter’s third summer and now that was rapidly approaching she knew it to be the case. She could already hear the dark road calling her.

 

But not yet. There was still too much to do.

 

Pial, her maid, hurried in, looking flustered. All the servants did these last few days, the King’s visit having sent them into whirlwind of panic, afraid to do a single thing wrong. And why shouldn’t they be? Whispers were rife that Uther had his servants whipped and put in stocks for their errors. Vivienne, although she didn’t know if they were true, did nothing to dis-spell such mutterings. It suited her to have others think ill of him.

 

The young maid drew breath when she saw her mistress clinging to the dresser for support.

 

“You should have waited for me, my lady,” she fussed kindly. She was a good decade younger than Vivienne and yet her manner was always maternal somehow. A natural mother. It must be why Morgana was so fond of her.

 

“I’m fine,” Vivienne lied although her voice sound hollow and cracked.

 

The girl sighed but continued in her duties regardless, taking a brush to her mistress’s hair. Vivienne flinched with every stroke but said nothing.

 

She would not let him beat her now.

 

“What would you like to wear today, my lady?” Pial asked, her tone falsely light and conversational. “You look beautiful in green.”

 

“The black velvet,” she replied without hesitation. She’d planned it last night.

 

“Black?” the girl queried with a frown. “But the King is here to celebrate the anniversary of his marriage, black hardly seems-”

 

Vivienne cut her off with a look.

 

“Yes, my lady,” she nodded, heading to the wardrobe.

 

Vivienne reached up, trying to undo the long plait in her hair. She wanted to look her best. Not for Uther, but to spite him. Her trembling fingers struggled a little but she managed it.

 

Pial returned with the dress, frowning gently at the quivering she saw in her mistress’s hand.

 

“My lady,” she said cautious as one would handle a nervous horse, “you don’t have to go down. If you’re not feeling well I’m sure the king will understand.”

 

“He will not beat me,” Vivienne snapped back fiercely, eyes wild and wide for a moment before she sighed and looked at the girl in something approaching apology. “Just make sure I look as well as I can.”

 

*********************

 

Vivienne stood in silence as her husband greeted the King and Queen. She didn't even flinch when Uther held out his hand for her to kiss in deference. It was the first time he’d touched her since that night, but she was proud that the only time her disquiet showed on her face was when Gorlois lifted up the young lady Morgana to introduce the toddler to the King.

 

Uther stroked her pale cheek with a gloved hand, and Vivienne’s stomach revolted at the sight making her want to snatch Morgana away. The King looked at her, as if trying to judge her reaction, but she refused to meet his gaze, staring at her husband until she was sure Uther had looked away.

 

She was grateful that Gorlois immediately took his old friend to speak in private, and Igraine retired to refresh after the long journey. It allowed Vivienne time to recover from standing for so long, her muscles aching and weary with even such a little effort. She took Morgana’s hand and went to the privacy of the balcony outside her chambers, the one that overlooked the gardens. She needed the soothing presence of fresh air and nature around her without the trouble of tackling the steep stairs that led down to the small courtyard.

 

She also wished to spend some time with her daughter. Easing onto the bench seat, she sat Morgana on her knee and let her play with the ends of her hair, fascinated. So innocent and unaware of what the world was truly like, just as she had been. The urge to steal Morgana out of reach of the King returned, and Vivienne wrapped her arms around her daughter and held her close.

 

She tried not to think of how she would never see Morgana grow. How she wouldn’t be able help shape who she would become or protect her from the King’s machinations. A living daughter, illegitimate or not, made for a fine back up plan should his marriage never produce children.

 

It was the only thing that made her consider confessing all to Gorlois when the time came, hoping that he would agree to love the girl as his own regardless. She’d be safe with him.

 

“What’s wrong, my love?” asked a soft voice, the man in question joining her on the balcony.

 

His presence both comforted her and left her uneasy.

 

“Just feeling a little tired,” she said, an effortlessly half lie as she turned to give him the best smile she could muster. If it wasn’t for Uther, she would never have become so adept at fooling her husband.

 

“And cold,” he added as he lay his hand tenderly over hers, kissing it gently before heading back to their rooms. He returned a moment later with a blanket, lifting Morgana down so he could drape it over his wife. They didn’t speak of her illness and she suspected her husband was in a great deal of denial. He couldn’t yet admit that she was dying.

 

“If you don’t feel well enough for the feast tonight, simply say the word,” Gorlois said gently. “Your absence would be understood.”

 

“And risk you having to deal with Uther’s tutting?” she asked glibly.

 

Gorlois smiled.

 

“For you, my lady, I would face the most determined tutting imaginable.”

 

For a moment, Vivienne’s face brightened.

 

“Come, little one,” he said, bending to Morgana. “Why don’t we let your mother rest a while and we’ll go and hunt trolls in the garden, hmm?”

 

Morgana, always quiet in her mother’s presence, as though she understood the fragility of the situation, nodded enthusiastically and held her arms out to be picked up.

 

Vivienne could have spent a very peaceful afternoon watching them play in the garden below, the girl giggling as her papa pretended to fight the hoard of trolls that had them trapped. She should have known such peace was not meant to last.

 

She felt his presence before she turned to see him, her body tensing and her hands removing the blanket even though she missed its warmth. She would not have him see her weak.

 

Uther’s smile was meant to be charming she supposed, and he overly bowed before he stepped onto the balcony.

 

“How pleasant to see you again, Lady Vivienne,” he said politely, ever the politician.

 

Not that polite though, she realised, balking at the idea he’d walked through their private chambers without invitation in order to find her. Uther Pendragon had been too used to doing what he liked even before he was king.

 

“My lord,” she replied coolly, the slightest inclination of her head the only indication of deference she gave.

 

A familiar war raged inside her, the conflict between needing to stay in his favour and wanting to rally against him. Bowing to him felt like accepting what he had done. Raging at him endangered her husband and daughter. Uther could be a cruel man and she wouldn’t put it beyond him to take it out on those around her should she displease him.

 

The king walked further onto the balcony, still dressed in his finery, clearly unable to stop his posturing in the home of his oldest friend. She couldn’t say she was surprised. He always had been very impressed with himself.

 

Coming forward, he leaned on the railing, a heavy silence on the air and a tightness settling in Vivienne’s throat as she realised that he was watching Gorlois and Morgana play unaware below.

 

She stood unsteadily, unable to bear any more.

 

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord…”

 

She took two paces before he smiled at her, an expression that held more menace than happiness.

 

“Come now, Lady Vivienne. You liked my company very much once.”

 

Instantly her temper flared, inflamed by the unbothered manner in which he mentioned what had come before. Like it was a joke to him.

 

“I thought you were my husband,” she hissed back angrily, cautious even though she knew that Gorlois was well beyond hearing.

 

Gorlois had been at battle and Vivienne was lonely without him, having grown surprisingly reliant on his kind, patient company. The offer for her to stay at Camelot had not been unwelcome, Vivienne knowing from her childhood what could happen when a home was thought defenceless by a rival. But despite being surrounded by people, a few friends even, she found herself lonely. And when Gorlois had returned to her unexpectedly one night she was so relieved that she hadn’t even questioned it. Why would she? He had looked like her husband.

 

Except she should have realised when he didn’t speak. He was normally such a talker, his words sweet and tender, making her feel loved as he took her in his arms. Such hard, cold passion wasn’t him, but she had just assumed that the trials of war had left him desperate for comfort.

 

Until she heard her name cried with abandon. In a voice that certainly wasn’t her husband’s.

 

Numb with shock, she’d said nothing as the man had made mumbled excuses and left. Moments later and working on more instinct than sense, she dragged on a robe and followed him from the room in secret, through the mostly deserted corridors. Back to the King’s chambers. He didn’t quite make it inside before he staggered, grasping at his chest for a moment as though he felt pain. And then she’d seen the mirage fade before her very eyes, like a fog lifting. She’d seen Uther. And he had seen her, turning as an unbidden sound of despair left her throat. He’d actually had the good grace to look uneasy for a moment before he’d simply nodded and entered his chambers.

 

Returning hurriedly to her own rooms she’d sat, stunned. Silent and shocked until the screams and sobs had burst forth.

 

Nightmares, she told the maid who’d come running. What else could she say? It would be her word against the King’s. She’d either be dismissed as mad or as a willing adulteress trying to excuse herself.

 

She’d known it was magic and that only one person in court could work such a spell: Uther’s puppet sorceress Nimueh. Her choice to serve in Uther’s court had seen the woman ostracised from the Old Religion, the other priestesses angry with the abuse of such powers against loyal devotees all at the whim of an arrogant man. Vivienne had never found out why she served him. Was she enamoured of him? Had she been promised something in return? She’d always liked powerful men and her ambitions knew no bounds.

 

Either way, she had driven a cold dagger further into Vivienne’s already fragile heart. One that had never shifted.

 

And now on her own balcony, Uther smiled at her again, as easily as he had ever done. As though his actions hadn’t betrayed his friend in the worst possible way and broken a woman who had just found happiness.

 

“You tricked me,” she accused fiercely.

 

“An indiscretion of youth,” he explained lightly, as though it was little more than a minor infringement. “I’m a married and settled man now.”

 

“To another woman that you stole,” she spat out.

 

Uther shrugged.

 

“She was in a political marriage, arranged by her father, to a man she didn’t love. It worked out best for all involved, did it not?”

 

Maybe so, but that didn’t mean he’d been in the right to take Igraine. Not that Uther ever seemed to consider what was right, just what he wanted.

 

“And yet you still have no heir,” she taunted, callously, going straight for the only wound she knew he had, wanting him to hurt. “After several years of wedded bliss. How strange.”

 

She saw the muscle in Uther’s jaw tighten and although she knew it was a danger sign she took an odd kind of pleasure in it.

 

“A child will come,” he replied. “We’ve proved ourselves capable.”

 

His eyes wandered down to Morgana, as if trying to bait Vivienne in the way she had him.

 

She was ashamed to know how easily it worked.

 

“She will have no father but Gorlois,” she promised him viciously. “I will see to it.”

 

Uther turned to her once more, that joyless smile on his face again.

 

“And when you are gone?”

 

Vivienne chilled.

 

“Forgive me, Lady Vivienne,” he said with false politeness. “You look unwell. I’ll leave you to rest.”

 

He bowed and left. Vivienne watched him go and knew that Uther Pendragon needed to be brought to his knees. She could not be his end but that she could set his downfall in motion.

 

*********************

 

The night was clear and moonlit which was both a curse and a blessing. It made it easy to see but also easier to be seen. The corridors had to be negotiated carefully, the darkest routes chosen if she was to keep her secrecy. But Vivienne knew her home well.

 

Due to her increasing weakness Vivienne hadn’t left the manor in weeks but, to protect her child, a mother could find the strength.

 

As could a woman with vengeance on her mind.

 

Morgana stirred a little as her mother entered her bed chambers but she was soon soothed into deep sleep by whispered words in the old language. The little girl didn’t move when Vivienne snipped away a lock of her black hair, not even when her finger was pricked with the sharpest point of a dagger, the resulting drops of blood caught by a handkerchief which Vivienne then wrapped the hair in. She leaned over and kissed her daughter’s head in apology.

 

In the stables, it took Vivienne two tries to mount her horse and then several moments to catch her breath and regain her balance. Perhaps Uther’s visit had been a blessing after all; he’d prompted her into action and if she’d left it much longer she doubted she would have managed it at all.

 

Fortunately the animal knew the way well, heading straight out of the side gate and into the forest, following her whispered pleas to take her home. Vivienne wasn’t sure how long it took. An hour or more? Not that it mattered. The sleeping draft she had given her husband would see him peacefully unaware until the first light of dawn and she would be back before then.

 

The priestess met her outside the vine covered temple, almost as if she knew Vivienne was coming. Two of the Blood Guard stood on duty by the door, making her feel strangely secure. She wished she could have spent more time here. Perhaps things would have been better for her.

 

“You shouldn’t have come child,” the priestess scolded as she helped Vivienne from the horse. She didn’t seem to be much older than Vivienne but her gaze was ancient and wise. “You are hardly in a fit state…”

 

Vivienne shook her head, pushing even the well-meant concerns away.

 

“I have to see the girl.”

 

The priestess opened her mouth as if to say more but hesitated and then just nodded.

 

Apparently she couldn’t refuse a dying woman.

 

She led Vivienne to a doorway that was almost entirely obscured by vines, the plants withdrawing a moment as the woman approached, allowing them both entrance. It was dark inside, lit torches instead of moonlight bathing the corridors in warm shadows.

 

Deep inside the building, the priestess knocked on a door. A young blonde girl wrapped in a red shawl opened it after a moment. Tall for her age and slender, she had a look of calm curiosity about her, surprisingly awake for such an hour. Almost as if she’d been waiting for them.

 

“May I come in, Morgause?” Vivienne asked softly.

 

She may only be a child still but the girl would one day be High Priestess and was worthy of respect.

 

Morgause nodded and Vivienne stepped in, noting that the other priestess didn’t follow.

 

“You brought something for me,” the girl said, once the door was shut.

 

“Yes,” Vivienne smiled, pleased by her insight. Clearly her training was going well.

 

She sat on the edge of the rumpled bed and indicated for the girl to join her. When she had, she lay the handkerchief on her lap.

 

“It’s from Morgana,” she began to explain.

 

“My sister.”

 

Vivienne sighed, assaulted by a mixture of feelings, stroking the girl’s blonde hair with affection for a moment.

 

“You must always care for her,” she instructed carefully, looking meaningfully into her eyes. “Use this to help find her. To guard and watch over her from a distance. When the time comes she can rejoin you. And together you will do great things, I’ve seen it.”

 

Morgause didn’t seem particularly concerned with the latter at the moment though.

 

“Is she in danger?” she asked with a frown, fingertips delicately touching the strand of hair.

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“From Uther Pendragon.”

 

Vivienne nodded warily. “He’s a danger to anyone who might one day prove a challenge to him.”

 

Morgause’s expression hardened.

 

“Which is why he wanted me dead and I had to be taken from my mother.”

 

Vivienne hesitated a moment before leaning across and kissing the girl’s cheek.

 

“I have brought you a sister,” she reminded her. “Be sure that he never takes her from you too.”


	2. Part One

Voices found Morgana in the darkness and she tried to hide from them. After all, she should be well beyond voices by now and she couldn’t imagine that anyone awaiting her here would be pleasant.

 

People like her didn’t go to good places after death, that’s what she’d always been taught.

 

“What happens to the sorcerers when they die?” she’d once asked when she was small, her curiosity overriding any sense that told her she didn’t want to know. She’d seen so many die already, whether it be a swift execution by axe or burning on the pyre. Too much for a child to see, but she’d witnessed it all the same. It bothered her immensely how afraid they seemed. What if all that awaited them was more fear?

 

Uther’s face had grown cold and dark at her question.

 

“They burn eternally for their crimes.”

 

Morgana had been frightened at the thought of that and hadn’t asked any more.

 

Now she had been murdered for what she was - as the laws of Camelot said she should - and she awaited the flames herself, wondering if the voices she could hear heralded their arrival. If her skin would soon crackle and burn. And never stop.

 

She wanted to scream from the fear that clawed at her but her lungs seemed broken and no sound came. She wanted to run but she was a prisoner here, trapped and helpless and at the mercy of whatever was around her.

 

What she didn’t want was to hear the voices any more, didn’t want to know what they were saying, but they forced themselves into her mind regardless.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

That voice was uncertain, the woman it belonged to sounded uneasy and made no attempt to hide it.

 

“The Forest of Balnor. I need a certain flower that grows there.”

 

That second voice on the other hand was full of confidence and assurance, belonging to a woman who seemingly had no doubts on anything.

 

Morgause.

 

In an instant Morgana tried to get up, tried to find her. Morgause had used her for her spell, she remembered that much. She’d used her as a vessel to send Camelot to sleep, making Morgana a part of her treason without telling her what it fully entailed. Some, she supposed, would say that Morgana should feel betrayed by that, angry at being made a pawn in a game she hadn’t been truly ready to play. But a simple truth couldn’t be denied: she didn’t want to be alone any more, and Morgause would not harm her for what she was.

 

She had chosen her side.

 

Again, she tried to rise to find that voice, but no part of her body obeyed her commands and she could do nothing but continue to listen.

 

“Let me go instead,” the other woman insisted. “You can stay here with her.”

 

“No. I know precisely what I’m looking for and will complete the journey far quicker.

 

“Yes, Priestess.”

 

The other woman sounded crestfallen.

 

“Stop fretting,” Morgause replied, somewhere between a command and comfort. “I need you to remain here. I trust you. You must care for my sister whilst I’m gone.”

 

The voices faded, and however desperately Morgana tried to hold on to them she slipped into darkness once more. Alone again. One word remained with her though, keeping the flames at bay.

 

Sister.

 

**********************

 

An unknown amount of time later, feeling returned to her body, a gradual growing awareness of what was around her washing over her skin. Morgana almost wished it hadn’t. Her body ached deeply, and just when she thought the discomfort had reached its peak, more seemed to pile on, leaving her feeling weary and weak even though she couldn’t yet open her eyes or make a sound to protest it.

 

She tried to concentrate, to force her body into obedience and anchor herself to the world beyond her closed eyes. She wanted to be out of this place but all she could manage was to gradually make out the sensations beneath her. Underneath her fingertips she recognized cool, smooth stone which undoubtedly would have made her shiver if she had the ability. As sensation crept up her hand though she found that there was more, something softer and more delicate. She couldn’t move her hand to test it but it felt almost…springy.

 

There was a coolness too, all over her, seeming to waft and change minutely with every passing moment.

 

When she eventually realised that she was naked, a sort of lethargic panic set in and to her own surprise she felt herself move a little as she tried to…escape? Cover up? She wasn’t sure but something in her mind told her that this wasn’t right and she had to do something about it.

 

She found herself held firm though, not by hands or manacles - she knew the restraint of both too well - but something entirely different that seemed to be wrapped about her body. Restraining her or protecting her?

 

Her panic rose, setting her heart pounding, before a cool hand on her cheek stilled her in an instant.

 

“Hush, dear one,” Morgause’s voice whispered, hard to pinpoint. It was like she was inside her very mind. “You’re with me and you’re safe. No one will harm you again.”

 

Morgana believed her without hesitation.

 

***********************

 

It hurt to open her eyes. Even the dim light of the room seemed like a bright burning sun. Morgana blinked and squinted, groaning lightly, her voice sounding cracked and broken as if her vocal chords had dried up.

 

A few commanding words were spoken in a language she didn’t understand and suddenly the light was more bearable.

 

Morgause stepped out of the shadows around her, smiling down with a true warmth and affection that Morgana hadn’t felt from anyone in such a long time.

 

She was her sister and Morgana had had no true family since her father had died.

 

“Is that better?” the sorceress asked, kindly.

 

Morgana nodded, finding even that small movement an effort.

 

Tiredly, her gaze wandered around the room, not recognising where she was at all. The lanterns, now burning low, made it difficult for her to see. The ceiling was so high that the room disappeared into darkness and the walls were bare, brown stone. She herself was laying on what seemed to be a raised altar and she was indeed naked. Except, that was, for some kind of vine like plant that had apparently grown around her, delicate white flowers in bloom all over it.

 

Magic? Or had she really been here that long?

 

Part of her wanted to try and reach and cover herself or ask for a blanket to protect her modesty. No one but Gwen had ever seen her naked and even then it was little more than brief glimpses as she rose out of the bath and was wrapped in a cloth to dry her. Now she was laying here with almost every inch of her pale skin on display, the vines and flowers barely concealing anything, skirting right around her breasts. She should be quite ashamed.

 

And yet another part of her felt strangely freed by it.

 

Morgause’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder.

 

“It’s helping to heal you,” she explained, as if she could read Morgana’s thoughts. “To remove the poison from your body. A day or two and I will be able to take you to more homely accommodations.”

 

Without even thinking, Morgana shuddered terribly at the word ‘poison’, her breath catching as though her throat had closed once more. She’d known it, of course. Had realised it as soon as she’d felt her body seizing up and her lungs failing to heed her commands to breathe. To hear it said so definitely put it into sharp relief though gave it a finality that frightened her all over again.

 

“He tried to kill me,” she whispered hollowly, forcing herself to say it so that it actually seemed real.

 

Her friend had tried to murder her. He had sacrificed her for the sake of Uther. She shook her head in disbelief, staring into the darkness above her. He would rather have seen her dead than risk the life of a man who would never lift a finger to do anything for him. How could she have meant so little to him? He hadn’t even tried to talk to her or understand what she’d done…

 

Morgause crouched down, holding Morgana’s hand tenderly, stroking her hair back from her temple.

 

“He will pay for it,” she assured her, even though revenge was the last thing on Morgana’s mind at the moment.

 

In fact, her mind was reeling as too many realisations hit her at once. She’d finally taken a stand for what was right, to stop Uther’s tyranny and she’d lost everything in return. Her home, her security, everything she’d ever owned. Everyone she’d known and loved. She’d always been aware that as a ward of the King her position was precarious, that she had no real rights or place, just things that were given to her on other’s kindness because they’d cared for her father. But now she had nothing of even that left. Every security she’d once had had been stripped away in an instant.

 

Morgause squeezed her hand a little, apparently trying to bring her attention back to her.

 

“But first we must see you well,” she said.

 

“What happened?” Morgana asked, her voice still sounding small. Lost. “How did I get here?”

 

The last she’d remembered was fighting his arms. Fighting to live even though she could feel in her bones that it was hopeless. But she’d been expecting death for so long that even when it came from an unseen source the instinct to fight it had been strong.

 

Then there had been an explosion, the sound of running feet and…Nothing. Just darkness. And the unknown that frightened her so much.

 

Morgause continued to trail her fingers lightly through Morgana’s hair, her touch simple but more soothing than anything Morgana had felt in years.

 

“I sensed your distress,” the sorceress explained. “I came and found that boy with you. That he’d poisoned you. He would only tell me what he’d used if I called off my attack.”

 

“And you did?” she asked, not meaning to sound so surprised.

 

Morgana remembered the conversation she’d had with Morgause in the forest, how she’d told her that Uther needed to be removed for the sake of their kind. That essentially nothing would be right and none of them would be safe until he was gone. Morgana understood that too; she’d seen his cruelty firsthand many times and knew that whilst he was still alive she would be living in constant fear and isolation along with the rest of those who had magic.

 

With only Arthur and Merlin still standing, Morgause had had Uther at her mercy. Yet she had let him live for the chance of saving her.

 

Morgause smiled at down her, the normally hard expression on her face softening in an instant.

 

“Why do you think the knights would do you no harm? You are more important to me than killing Uther. We will get another opportunity. I only get one of you.”

 

“One sister?” Morgana asked hesitantly.

 

Morgause’s smile broadened further.

 

“Yes,” she said, seeming immensely pleased that Morgana knew.

 

Morgana was silent and thoughtful a moment, taking in the weight of that. It changed everything, that much she could appreciate. Since her father’s death when she was just ten, she’d been alone. Not physically maybe - no, she was always surrounded by people - but the sense that she had no one had settled heavily on her, a horrible weight for a child to bear. It’d made her hard and sarcastic. Untouchable except in rare moments. And now she had a sister. She wasn’t even truly sure how to act in light of that. Of late, she’d withdrawn herself further and further from everything and everyone, feeling that was the only way to ensure her safety and now this woman had given up all that she had worked for in order to save her. She didn’t care that Morgana had magic or consider her a monster. She would love her just as she was.

 

It was both wonderful and overwhelming.

 

“I don’t understand,” she admitted, starting with her most basic thoughts. How could she have a sister and not know about it?

 

“I was taken from Camelot when I was mere hours old and given to the Priestesses of the Old Religion,” Morgause explained gently. “I was raised in their temples to be High Priestess of our people.”

 

“But you were born before the Great Purge…” Morgana reasoned with a frown.

 

Morgause nodded.

 

“There was a prophecy. That I would bring the House of Pendragon to its knees.”

 

Morgana’s expression grew a little darker and she realised why Morgause had been lost to her.

 

“And Uther is not beyond killing innocent children.”

 

“Indeed,” Morgause said, standing again. “But now I have my sister, and nothing will stand between us and Uther. Not again.”

 

“I’m not sure how much help I can be to you,” Morgana said hesitantly, not even considering for a moment where her allegiances should lie. Uther had grabbed her by the throat and had her chained for merely arguing with him, she couldn’t imagine that his reaction would be any kinder if he found out about her magic. She would never be safe whilst he was alive, she’d known that for a long time. But she’d never been in the position nor had the courage to do anything about it until now. Though compared to Morgause who was powerful and strong, Morgana was little more than a novice. She didn’t even have her place in Camelot anymore. What could she do?

 

Morgause’s smile was every bit that of a High Priestess.

 

“You have great power in you, my sister, I can feel it. You require training but you will become a remarkable sorceress in time, that I promise you.”

 

Morgana felt a sudden surge inside her, a certainty she hadn’t felt in a while. It was strength instead of helplessness, and she welcomed it openly.

 

“Now,” Morgause continued, looking pleased, “you must get more rest.”

 

She glanced to her left and the door in the far wall opened, a slender, blonde haired girl coming in.

 

Morgana instantly became all too aware of her nakedness once more, clearly uncomfortable.

 

“Lilly is a trusted servant,” Morgause soothed. “She’s been helping me care for you. I have things I must attend to but I shall return soon. There’s a guard outside the door. You’re quite safe here, my sister.”

 

She pressed a kiss to Morgana’s forehead before leaving in a rustle of silk.

 

Morgana closed her eyes, wanting to rest. Not really wanting to acknowledge the stranger in the room. She was with her sister now, all would be well.

 

Sister.

 

That simple word gave her more security than she’d felt since her father had died. A feeling she’d forgotten and was determined to revel in.

 

She was home. Camelot and it’s cold corridors didn’t matter anymore.

 

*********************

 

“They’re here for our protection,” Morgause explained as they walked through the castle corridors, clearly noting the wary looks that Morgana gave the armed men who stood on duty. “Do you remember what I told you? The Blood Guard have protected the High Priestesses for hundreds of years. Their loyalty is unquestionable.”

 

Still Morgana didn’t feel entirely comfortable in their presence, particularly now that she was capable of getting out of her bed and actually walking around the castle, meaning that she saw them a lot more. Her paranoia was high and had a firm grip on her. A supposed friend had turned on her, what was there to prevent a stranger from doing the same?

 

As far as her mind was concerned, all people should be regarded with suspicion now unless they unequivocally proved otherwise. It was the only safe way.

 

With her exception of her sister, of course, who she didn’t doubt for a moment. In fact, the only time she could truly relax was in Morgause’s company. Even kind, patient Lily was occasionally a victim of her suspicious mind. After all, what better way to kill her than to have someone gain her trust and poison her again?

 

She wished her mind didn’t think like that. Such distrust was a wearing way to live.

 

At least her new home was beginning to feel more secure, and she’d stopped tensing anxiously at every sound of horses hooves, had stopped expecting them to be knights arriving to drag her back to Camelot for trial and execution. She was safe here.

 

The castle was surprisingly warm and homely, lacking the elegant refinement of her former home, but making up for it with its natural charm. There was so much life here, plants and animals had half taken it over in places, making it feel like the living forest had moved in. And why not? As far as she could see, only her sister and Lily actually lived here, even the guard had their quarters outside the main keep. This was a place of nature and peace.

 

Morgause said it had been taken from a noble family during the Great Purge, good people who had refused to surrender those of magic under their care. In the end, they all had been dragged to the executioner’s block, but the castle had had the final say. Enchanted, it would no longer allow those who bore ill will to the people of magic to enter it, their skin burning and blackening if they tried to cross the threshold. Morgause seemed to like the irony of that considering how many of magic had died on the pyre.

 

But, she explained quite clearly, it meant that Morgana was entirely safe. No one who meant her harm would be permitted to enter.

 

Still Morgana found it difficult to eat or drink anything that anyone handed to her, wary of what it might contain. Morgause was patient, saying her caution was understandable, but Morgana simply felt dismayed by it. By how weak she’d become. She couldn’t even sleep on her own most of the time, plagued by normal but still terrifying nightmares and spending many night’s curled up in her sister’s bed. Either hiding in her embrace or at very least touching her hand. Convincing herself that she was there and so it was safe.

 

She woke up screaming too many times, clawing at her throat, convinced that she couldn’t breathe. Morgause would just speak to her calmly, holding and rocking her, making her breathe with her until she settled again.

 

All would be well, she insisted. The boy would pay.

 

Morgana still found it hard to think about what he’d done. That he’d truly set out to kill her. That he’d professed to be her friend but then hadn’t even tried to talk to her. No, he’d just gone straight for the poison bottle. Tricking her into drinking and then holding her as she’d nearly died in terror.

 

In the end, he’d valued Uther’s life above hers.

 

And, she quickly came to realise, why should anyone in Camelot feel any different? They didn’t care what Uther had done, simply that he was their King. Their loyalty was blind and absolute.

 

And entirely misplaced.

 

She’d once believed that there were good people in Camelot, people worth fighting for, but was that really the case when no one stood up for the many wrongs committed? Anyone who did was branded traitor and killed. Was anything there worth saving at all?

 

But then again she’d seen goodness from some too. Arthur… Gwen…

 

“Morgana?” Morgause asked, a frown of concern at seeing the thoughtful expression on her sister’s face once more.

 

“The Blood Guard protect you,” Morgana acknowledged quickly, showing that she’d been listening.

 

“Protect us,” Morgause corrected. “You are home now. With your people. Where you belong and are needed.”

 

Morgana was unconvinced.

 

“I’m hiding here,” she said bitterly.

 

Morgause stopped, stepping in front of her gracefully, bringing her hand up to cradle Morgana’s cheek.

 

“You think you are nothing to us? To me?”

 

“I think I’m your sister and you love me.”

 

She’d never been more certain of anything even though she hadn’t known Morgause long. She felt their connection deep inside like it was an integral part of her, growing stronger every day.

 

“Very much so,” Morgause agreed with a smile that seemed genuinely touched. “But you are more than that, Morgana. Your insight is a powerful and wonderful gift which you will learn to control over time. Your magic is stronger than you realise. Sorceresses are trained from childhood to find and use their gifts. It will take you time but you will come to have control of the power you possess. And you will be magnificent.”

 

She seemed so assured that Morgana started to believe it.

 

Morgause linked her arm through hers sister’s and they carried on walking.

 

“I need to leave for a few days,” she announced after a moment of silence.

 

Morgana wasn’t ashamed to admit that her blood ran cold at the thought.

 

“Why?”

 

“We are powerful but few,” said Morgause, as much the leader as she’d ever sounded. “We need strong allies.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Cenred. His Kingdom is vast, his army large and he bears Camelot and its king no love at all.”

 

“He’s also a brute and extremely cautious,” Morgana said in distaste, knowing the man by reputation. He’d never yet invaded Camelot, knowing it would be a fool’s errand to try to take the well protected citadel, but he happily sent his men in to plunder the border villages, escaping back to their home before any aid could arrive. “What can we offer him?”

 

Morgause smiled a little. Predatory.

 

“Oh he is quite enamoured of me and will do whatever I ask with the right persuasion.”

 

Morgana was too disturbed by the notion to ask what persuasion that might be.

 

“The Blood Guard will keep you safe,” Morgause continued, as if sensing her sister’s apprehension. “And Lily will attend to you.”

 

“Should I not come with you?”

 

A worry for her sister or fear of not having her calming presence around?

 

“You need to rest, dear one,” Morgause soothed. “You’re still recovering. The journey is long and I wish to travel quickly. Stay here and be safe.”

 

**********************

 

The short days of winter seemed to continue on and on, snows and ice winds battering the lands. Morgause would leave for days at a time, liaising with allies, collecting supplies and secretly meeting those of magic. Morgana was surprised how much she did herself, having always imagined that the High Priestesses of old were like queens, delegating what they wanted done to others. Morgause, it seemed, trusted no one.

 

Except Morgana, that much was becoming obvious. She would sit with Morgana in the evenings, telling tales of her upbringing or about the people still out there. Their people and the injustices they suffered at Camelot’s hands. And though the tales sometimes sounded too horrible to be true, Morgana believed every word of it. She’d seen too much suffering first hand.

 

On the best evenings, Morgause would teach Morgana magic. Nothing important or difficult. Children’s spells really: making leaves dance in the air or a candle burn blue instead of yellow. Morgana didn’t know if she should be slightly embarrassed that such simple things made her feel so wonderful inside, the sense of power bringing her a peace that she’d lost. Giving her a sense of belonging.

 

It felt beautiful and not monstrous like she’d always been taught.

 

Learning from Morgause was the first time she’d never feared her magic. The first time in many years she hadn’t been disgusted with what she was.

 

Morgause would smile at her in delight, proud of her small progress in a way that didn’t feel at all patronising despite her own far superior abilities. Morgana found herself working as much for those smiles as for the satisfaction of the magic. No one had ever looked at her like that before. They’d smiled at her in affection, had complimented her beauty and sometimes even her spirit when they weren’t complaining about her fierce opinions. But no one, to her knowledge, had ever been proud of her. But when she got the most basic spell right, Morgause would beam at her and kiss her cheek tenderly. Lily too would look at her like she was something wondrous.

 

The other girl was more than a mere servant, Morgana came to realise. Morgause had great faith in her and treated her with kindness and respect. She was small and slender, a delicate looking thing but entirely fierce of spirit. On the night’s when Morgause was absent, she would sit with Morgana, would make sure she ate and help her to bed. Morgana wanted to be strong but her body was still recovering, feeling heavy and exhausted by evening. Sometimes she would get cross with herself, insisting that no help was required, but Lily would stand for no nonsense, telling her that it was far easier for both of them if Morgana just accepted the help rather than falling on her face and leaving Lilly to clean up the resulting mess.

 

Morgana liked her for that.

 

“How long have you been here?” she asked one evening as the girl was brushing her hair for her.

 

Morgana hadn’t asked her to do it nor had she expected it. She was no longer Lady Morgana of Camelot after all. But she was weary and even that small action had been an effort. Lily had offered without words, taking the brush from her and softly batting Morgana’s hands away.

 

“Since I was twelve,” Lily answered without hesitation. She was always honest, never hiding any part of who she was. Morgana found that refreshing too.

 

“Did your family send you here?” she asked cautiously. She knew some servants were brought, purchased and set to work where they were commanded. They were paid for their work, of course, slavery being outlawed, but their freedoms were few.

 

She didn’t like to think that her sister would do such a thing. Nor did she, to her own surprise really, like to think of Lily in such a situation.

 

“Not exactly. My mother and father were practitioners of the Old Religion. Nothing like your ability, of course. Didn’t stop King Uther from having them sentenced to death though.”

 

Morgana chilled, realising that she’d probably had to endure watching their execution.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“They heard that the soldiers were coming and so they had my grandmother sneak me out,” Lily continued, more matter of fact than Morgana could have managed. “There wasn’t time for them to escape too.”

 

“I’m…” Morgana began again before realising how pointless and hollow apologies sounded. “And your grandmother brought you here?”

 

“No. To the village nearby. When she became sick a couple of years later, she came to the High Priestess for help. My grandmother was worried about what would happen to me if she died.” Lily looked sad for a moment. “She was beyond help but the High Priestess took me into her household. I’ve been here ever since.”

 

“And you’re happy here?”

 

Lily smiled at her in the reflection of the mirror.

 

“Very much so, my lady.”

 

“I’ve told you before, you don’t have to call me that.”

 

“You’re the sister of the High Priestess,” Lily said simply, tying Morgana’s hair into a braid. “And you will be a great sorceress in your own right. You deserve respect.”

 

Morgana scoffed.

 

“I can barely master children’s tricks.”

 

Lily immediately shook her head.

 

“Your powers are wonderful, my lady,” she said, looking genuinely surprised that Morgana didn’t see it. “I wish I had half of your ability.”

 

“Can you do any magic?” Morgana asked, wondering since the girl’s parents had obviously had the capability. Also wanting to change the subject, feeling a little embarrassed by praise she didn’t feel she deserved.

 

“I have a few skills,” Lily said dismissively. “Mostly in poultices. Nothing like what you can do.”

 

“You’re too kind,” Morgana said, almost scolding.

 

Lily bent down and pressed a quick, almost shy kiss to her cheek.

 

“Never.”

 

**********************

 

Morgause’s absences became easier to bear as time went on. Not that Morgana ever looked forward to them, but she at least felt more at ease without her sister’s presence. More able to cope without her. Lily helped greatly, proving to be caring, kind and intuitive.

 

It had taken a while, but Morgana never woke up screaming anymore either, not like she had after her nightmares back in Camelot. It was a start, but her fears were not completely diminished though. Sometimes she would still awake in a cold sweat clutching at her throat, trying to claw away the invisible hands that stopped her breathing.

 

The first time Lily entered her chambers after one of those nightmares, Morgana had commanded her to get out, her mind whirling with dark thoughts. If she couldn’t trust a supposed friend, how could she ever trust this stranger?

 

The next time Lily just knocked lightly at the door, telling Morgana that she would be just outside if she needed her.

 

Morgana could never figure out how she knew that she’d woken.

 

Months after her arrival, with her sister absent and she having endured her fourth night in a row of terrible nightmares, Morgana actually shuffled out of bed. She was so exhausted, so miserable, just needing to sleep but afraid to close her eyes.

 

She almost burst into tears when she opened her door and saw Lily sitting patiently on the chair outside.

 

The young woman smiled kindly.

 

“Come, my lady,” she said standing and offering her arm for support. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

 

She stayed in Morgana’s room all night, curled into the chair.

 

The next night, Morgana offered her a place in her bed. There was no reason for Lily to miss out on sleep because of her. This time when she awoke, Morgana found soothing arms around her in an instant. She drifted back to sleep in them without protest.

 

It was nice to be so cared for. To not feel alone.

 

More sleep meant that her strength returned to her again, and Morgana found herself suddenly keen to explore her surroundings. The castle was safe and homely yet she hadn’t stepped outside in months. It was time for that to change.

 

The guardsman on duty simply nodded when Morgana told him she was going outside. He had no issue with her wandering a little as long as she didn’t travel beyond the edge of the surrounding woodland. The magic that protected the castle stopped there.

 

She wasn’t sure if he was trying to protect her or protect himself from her sister’s anger should anything happen to her. She still wondered how much everyone here truly accepted her.

 

Morgana assured him that she had no intention of wandering and besides she was taking Lily with her.

 

For the first time in a long while she actually laughed that afternoon, walking barefoot through streams on the extensive grounds, feet getting filthy in the long grass. It was wonderful and freeing, and Lily was delightful. The girl was sunny and caring company, apparently enjoying herself too and just wanting to see Morgana happy. And she blushed adorably when she encouraged Morgana to use her magic frivolously, making fallen petals dance.

 

Everything felt right that afternoon.

 

Later, laying exhaustedly in the bath, the younger woman whispered to her how wonderful she was. Morgana just smiled, eyes closed in her relaxation, used to the compliments by now even if she didn’t believe them still.

 

“Maybe one day I’ll be even half the sorceress my sister is and then I’ll be worth half that praise.”

 

“You are magnificent,” Lily assured her, her voice no nonsense as if she wouldn’t take any argument about that.

 

Morgana’s smile only faltered when Lily’s hands, that had been so sweetly massaging her shoulders slid further down under the waterline.

 

She said nothing though, assuming she was imagining things, until the other woman’s thumbs brushed at the curve of her breasts. Then she opened her eyes, her gaze full of uncertainty.

 

“What are you…?”

 

Lily looked mildly troubled. Abashed almost.

 

“Do you not want me to? I know I’m really only a servant but…”

 

It took Morgana a long moment to think about the answer to that.

 

“No, it’s not that…”

 

“Has no one ever touched you in this manner before?”

 

The question was blunt and forthright. Just the way Lily always asked them. Morgana gave her a dry smile.

 

“I was the ward of a King who would kill people for looking at me incorrectly. No man would dare.”

 

“What about a woman?”

 

The fact that Morgana hesitated gave away a lot.

 

“My maid and I were close once,” she confessed. “Mostly when I’d had a little too much wine during a feast.”

 

Without saying another word, Lily leaned over and kissed her softly.

 

Morgana didn’t exactly push her away but her mind was too full of questions to truly respond. Lily’s lips were full and soft and the feel of them left a warmth inside Morgana that she hadn’t felt in a long time. But it was in her nature to doubt now.

 

She looked at Lily with a frown when she pulled away.

 

“Why are you doing this?” she eventually asked.

 

Lily didn’t seem to take offence at that at all. In fact, she just smiled as if she was amused.

 

“Because the High Priestess told me to look after you in whatever way I saw fit.”

 

“So you kiss me because you think you’ve been told to,” Morgana concluded, instantly troubled by that notion.

 

Lily’s smile didn’t falter, her hand on Morgana’s cheek.

 

“I kiss you because you’re beautiful and magnificent and I consider it an honour.” She leaned down again, her lips once more brushing softly over Morgana’s before she pulled back a little to whisper. “I kiss you because you’ve had too much pain in your life and you deserve pleasure.”

 

She kissed her again deeper this time before her lips moved up to Morgana’s ear, teasing and encouraging.

 

“Close your eyes,” she whispered. “Relax and enjoy. And if you want me to stop, just open them again. I simply want you to be happy.”

 

And how could she not be as Lily’s gentle hands skirted lightly over her body in a slow massage? She wanted to open her eyes, to watch what she was doing, but there was a nice freedom in just feeling. Part of her tried to reason that this was madness, that it made no sense and shouldn’t be happening. But mostly she just went with feeling above sense. And this felt good. Especially as Lily’s hands brushed against the curve of her breast again, Morgana bitting her lip a little, suppressing the sound that tried to escape. She was sure it wasn’t meant to feel this good. That she shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy such a thing so much.

 

Her nipples peaked as Lily’s fingers caressed them, warm pleasure travelling to her core. It made her need to say something, embarrassed almost by the silence.

 

“Won’t you get in trouble? With my sister, I mean.”

 

Lily kissed her neck, hands still stroking over her breasts for a moment longer before she began to move, shuffling softly around the side of the bath. Her caresses continued, sliding down to Morgana's.

 

“There is no element of class among the priestesses,” she explained, apparently presuming that Morgana was worried about the consequences of allowing a servant to seduce her. “Some are powerful, some are not so. But there’s no shame in that. It’s just the way of the world and we all have our place. We all rely on each other. If it’s my place it to make you happy, then I am more than content with that. And as a sorceress, you may take any lover you see fit as long as they don’t harm our kind.”

 

Morgana was immediately concerned about what Lily expected of her. ‘Lover’ seemed permanent somehow, and she was having great difficulty thinking beyond this moment. Particularly when Lily’s hand slid between her legs. Instinct made Morgana part them, her body clearly wanting this, and she felt Lily smile against her lips as her fingers began to explore her intimately. There was nothing but pleasure, growing and warm, a slickness that she was only vaguely familiar with building along with it, making the movements of those fingers feel even more divine. The water made it better somehow, less exposed. More secret. And to her surprise, didn't wash the wetness between her legs away. Magic in those oils Lily poured into her bath, she wondered?

 

The pleasure built and built and when it suddenly peaked Morgana was caught by surprise, gasping loudly, body shaking as she was filled with beautiful warmth.

 

“My sweet goddess,” Lily whispered adoringly, hand still between Morgana’s legs as she kissed her slowly.

 

The next morning, Morgana was confused and unsettled, wondering what the expectations were now. Wondering what her sister might think. But Lily did nothing differently, simply smiled in her normal friendly way, bringing Morgana her breakfast.

 

She pressed an affectionate kiss to her cheek but said nothing more.

 

Morgana was glad. She adored the girl but…she was confused by her feelings for her. It didn’t feel like love, more like the enjoyment of having someone. Of being close.

 

If Morgause did realise anything when she returned, she didn’t mention it, only saying how much healthier Morgana was looking by the day.

 

Good night’s sleep aided that, either curled up at her sister’s side, or with Lily,. Sometimes with the girl’s wonderful exploring hands, sometimes just resting in comfort.

 

She taught Morgana to touch her at the lady's insistence, showed her what was pleasurable and what she liked. And when Lily came undone beneath her touches, crying out her name and gripping at the bedsheets, for the first time in her life Morgana truly felt powerful.


	3. Part Two

Morgana lay, sprawled naked on her stomach, the bed clothes a soft mess of silk beneath her, hair a wild tumble over her shoulders.

 

“Do you think she’ll be much longer?” she asked idly, arching a little as Lily’s hands slid firmly up a knot of muscles on her back.

 

Lily sat across Morgana’s legs, equally naked. Morgana’s body was so much stronger than it had been when she’d first arrived, but she still tired easily at times. They’d been riding earlier that day and now her back was protesting vehemently at the exercise. Lily had offered to rub some soothing oils into her skin, although they’d admittedly got a little distracted as she’d helped undress Morgana and were only now getting round to the actual treatment.

 

The nature of their relationship remained undefined, and the longer it went on Morgana rather liked that to be honest. Lily was her friend, that much she was clear about. The fact that she’d also happily bring her such pleasure was a bonus she was content not to question. She didn’t really want to think about the future. She was comfortable with Lily and the young woman made her smile. Nothing else really mattered. Why complicate things?

 

“I don’t know, my lady,” Lily admitted with a shrug. “You know how difficult King Cenred can be. He expects much for even the slightest risk.”

 

Morgana had told her a dozen times that she didn’t need to call her ‘my lady’ when they were alone, but Lily never listened.

 

Morgana scoffed. “He should feel honoured to have her presence at all. She’s far too good to be dealing with the likes of him.”

 

“So protective,” Lily cooed teasingly, bending down to press a kiss against Morgana’s neck.

 

Morgana couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling of the other girl’s breasts pressing against her back.

 

“She’s my sister,” she said without hesitation, trying not to get too distracted. She wasn’t exactly in any fit position to protect Morgause and nor did she really believe that her sister needed her help, but Morgana cared for her fiercely all the same, wanting to keep her safe. And untouched by such hands as Cenred’s.

 

She almost protested as Lily suddenly got up, leaving Morgana’s back exposed and suddenly cold. She felt oddly alone without Lily’s calming physical presence. But the girl immediately held her hand out, drawing Morgana to her feet and leading her to the comfortable armchair instead.

 

“She is also completely dedicated to our people,” Lily said, kneeling down in front of Morgana and stroking her thighs as she positioned her legs apart with easy familiarity. A few weeks ago such an action would have had Morgana dumb with nervous anticipation. Now she was entirely comfortable with it, watching the other woman with warm eyes.

 

“She shouldn’t have to do anything untoward to secure our freedom though,” said Morgana, feeling more than nauseated at the idea of Cenred even looking at her sister inappropriately, let alone…

 

Lily kissed her inner thighs, mouth moving gradually higher.

 

“Don’t worry. The High Priestess has ways of making him do what she wishes without so much as flashing an ankle. The promise - even a false promise - of reward is encouragement enough when given properly.”

 

“Is that what you’re doing now?” Morgana asked wanting to change the subject and unable to resist squirming softly as Lily’s lips teased her. Getting distinctly distracted now.

 

“No,” the girl grinned. “I deliver on my promises most willingly.”

 

Her tongue found that spot she’d taught Morgana about and the sorceress quickly slid into bliss, fingers curling possessively into Lily’s long, blonde hair.

 

**********

 

“It’s the defences that are most difficult,” Morgause mused, long fingers playing idly with the silk of her skirt as she sat at her dresser, the tiny movement the only true outward sign of her agitation. She was eyeing her reflection in the mirror critically, as though she was searching for the fault that had caused her to fail so far.

 

Morgana could see no trace of a blemish.

 

Her sister had only returned that afternoon from her long days away courting Cenred’s favour, sweeping in with an air of discontent and frustration. Apparently things had not gone well.

 

“The walls are too high and the citadel too well guarded,” she continued, thinking the issue aloud for at least the fifth time since she’d returned. Lily was running errands in the village and so Morgana had tended to her sister, fetching her food and wine whilst she changed from her riding clothes. Morgause insisted that she didn’t have to but Morgana brushed the small protests aside. She wanted to be useful in any way that she could. She had an overwhelming urge to care for her sister.

 

“Cenred’s army could take them in a prolonged siege.” Morgause sipped at her wine between thoughts, seeming highly displeased by this troublesome obstacle. “He could starve them out eventually and against the force of his army even the Knights of Camelot would stand no chance. But that would be long and costly and no amount of persuasion will make Cenred risk it. He fears incursion from his rivals if he’s away from his lands for too long.”

 

Morgana huffed.

 

“He always has his own best interests at heart.” Not that she really thought he owed them any loyalty. “Is there no way to use magic to weaken the defences?”

 

“There is,” Morgause replied. “But no way to see it done. It would require someone trustworthy inside Camelot itself.”

 

Morgana hesitated for just a moment before she spoke. She had no desire to return to Camelot but if Morgause and their people needed her assistance then it seemed only right that she give it.

 

“If it brought Uther down…”

 

Morgause turned and looked at her in askance briefly before realising what she was offering.

 

“No,” she said firmly. “It carries great danger. Besides, I think there would be difficult questions if Uther’s lost ward was seen wandering the castle. We cannot risk you being spotted.”

 

Morgana felt a twinge of disappointment at that, wondering why Morgause thought her unable to carry out the mission. Was it her lack of magical competency, or did Morgause not trust her resolve? Was all Morgana useful for fetching her sister’s tea?

 

Morgause, so intuitive as always, rested a hand on hers.

 

“You are too important to risk on such an endeavour, sister. I will find another way. Patience has always been required. You must heal and, in time, you’ll take your proper place at my side.”

 

**********

 

Later that evening, Morgause put aside the problems posed by Camelot’s defences for the night and spent her evening teaching Morgana instead. They made flowers bloom and fade, Morgause’s going from dry and brittle to lush petals with a mere whisper of the right words. Morgana’s wilted and perked up again on command, not quite as impressive but progress none the less.

 

“That’s it. Feel the magic within you. Imagine it as an extension of your fingers. A stream of-“ Morgause suddenly stopped her explanation, a troubled frown coming over her face, as if she sensed something on the air that Morgana was blind to.

 

Morgana had the suddenly sick feeling that something was dreadfully wrong.

 

She went to ask her what was the matter, but Morgause immediately silenced her with a raised hand. Instead, Morgause stood and crossed to the window, looking down on the courtyard below. Morgana joined her to see a group of men arriving, a wrapped bundle over one of their horses.

 

Morgause hurried to meet them, the full seriousness of the High Priestess etched on her face. Morgana followed her without question. Something wasn’t right, she could feel it like it was clawing at her.

 

“What is this?” Morgause demanded as she walked down the well worn steps, the guard at once turning to her, bowing their heads.

 

“I’m sorry, Priestess,” the man at their lead said, looking a mixture of ashamed and upset. “A boy from the village came to get us but it was too late.”

 

Morgause’s gaze bore into him, fire burning behind her eyes. She pushed passed him, stepping up to the horse and drawing back the blanket, having no patience for his delicacies.

 

It was Lily. Her head had been bashed in, her once bright eyes open and sightless.

 

Morgana had never fainted in her life and even when she felt the floor beneath her, she didn’t realise that she’d fallen until she saw that she was looking up at people. Slowly the faces of concern faded, only a pretty blonde haired girl seeming to remain.

 

**********

 

“What happened?”

 

Morgana had awoken a good ten minutes ago, finding herself in the lower study, laid out on the sofa. But she couldn’t speak for a long time, just stared into the patterns of the drapes, trying to wrap her mind around what had occurred until the words finally came.

 

Lily was dead, that much she knew.

 

And she couldn’t sob, as much as she wanted to. Like it didn’t seem real.

 

Morgause sat by her side, stroking her head and holding her hand. Her face was a troubled mixture of tender and dark.

 

“A mob,” she explained grimly. “A woman in the village had been accused of sorcery and they wanted her disposed of. They were worried she’d bring the Knights of Camelot to them and more would die. Lily protested and paid dearly for her kindness.”

 

Morgana frowned, not really understanding. The sorceresses had always been kind to the people here as far as she knew and they’d never had any problem with them before.

 

“News spread quickly of how Prince Arthur and his men killed the druids at their camp,” Morgause explained, seeing her confusion, “and since your disappearance his intrusions have been more pronounced and aggressive.”

 

On Uther’s orders no doubt, Morgana reasoned. He was probably most aggrieved by the embarrassment of losing his ward. After all, if he couldn’t protect his own then how was he supposed to protect the kingdom?

 

Regardless of his motives though, one thing was clear to her…

 

“It’s my fault…” she whispered numbly, feeling like her heart was cracking. Nothing she had personally done but if Uther’s latest bout of cruelty was sparked by her disappearance then in the end it came down to her nonetheless.

 

Lily was gone because of her.

 

She hadn’t been in love with the other woman, she knew that, but she’d still loved her. She was a sweet, caring, kind girl who had done so much to help her in these last few months. And she’d been beaten to death by a mob out of fear. She’d deserved so much better than that.

 

“No,” Morgause insisted firmly, leaning down and kissing Morgana’s forehead. “This is what Uther and his kind do. This is the true cost of his hatred.”

 

And Morgana cried, truly understanding the personal cost at last.

 

**********

 

Lily was buried in the grounds, a calm and beautiful spot that Morgause had picked out herself. The girl had liked it there, had sat there often after her grandmother died, finding peace. It seemed fitting.

 

As High Priestess she carried out the ceremony too but, to her own shame really, she was far more focused on her sister than the woman they were laying to rest. She’d been well aware that Morgana and the girl had had an…ongoing liaison. She didn’t detect any sense of deep attachment from her sister but she knew Lily was a sensible, kind girl and her attentions would help Morgana to heal. To trust again. That would be important if she was truly to take her place among their people.

 

Now she’d had that taken from her and Morgause was saddened for her.

 

Lily’s sacrifice was a tragedy and an affront to their kind - that people could think they could attack someone living under the care of the High Priestess - but the warrior in Morgause knew that the best she could do now was try to use it to her advantage. Morgana had been afraid before, scared of returning to the world outside the castle. As she herself had said, she was hiding here and Morgause had been happy to let her do so.

 

But now, once her tears had dried, she was angry. Dangerously so, her comments in the last few days showing a fierce bitterness rising. Her hatred for Uther growing by the day to something that would make her the strongest of allies. And Morgause couldn’t deny that Morgana could be extremely useful to their cause.

 

However, she’d quickly come to learn, her sister was both guided and blinded by her tumultuous emotions. They made her both strong and fiercely determined but extremely unpredictable. Morgause couldn’t involve her in her plans whilst she remained so conflicted. Twice she knew her sister had been in a position to end Uther’s life and twice she’d held back. And even if her hate for him was absolute and unwaivering now, there were still others to consider. Arthur and this servant girl she spoke of, this Guinevere. Morgana remembered them kindly, choosing to recall pleasant things about them rather than the fact she’d felt the need to hide her true nature from them. Morgana’s conflicted feelings for them would have to be dealt with before she could be trusted with the plan that was forming in Morgause’s mind.

 

She would not allow a crisis of conscience to put her sister’s life at risk. She needed her absolute loyalty. She wanted it. Not that she would ever lie to her.

 

Why would she need to when the truth would suffice?

 

**********

 

“Did I tell you about Igraine?”

 

Morgana didn’t look up, too comfortable laying in her sister’s lap on one of the large drawing room sofas. Morgause’s fingers were soft and soothing in her hair. They’d spent many an evening like this of late, Morgause having stayed home since Lily’s death. She seemed disturbed by the turn of events, and Morgana couldn’t blame her. She’d spent a lot of time thinking about it herself.

 

A lot about how she missed the girl - her sweetness, her praise and her attentions - but mostly about the injustice of it all. It was a travesty for such a kind young woman to die in such an unfair way.

 

Something needed to be done about it although she wasn’t sure quite what yet.

 

“Arthur’s mother?” she asked with a curious frown, although she was certain there was no other with such a name in the kingdom.

 

Morgause nodded, still stroking her hair. Soothing and somewhat possessive. She’d been acting increasingly like that since Lily had been brought back. Not that Morgana minded. “Did you know her?”

 

“Vaguely,” Morgana said with a slightly troubled expression. “She was kind. She had a gentle face.”

 

Morgana had only met her once, when Uther and Igraine had come to her father’s home in the months before her mother had passed. Uther had frightened her a little - her mother’s wary reaction not helping - but Igraine had been sweet and warm to her. She’d made Morgana smile.

 

“Everyone was sad when she died.”

 

Morgause dropped a kiss into Morgana’s hair. She seemed relaxed but Morgana could feel the tension in her body.

 

“I don’t suppose Uther ever told you how she died?”

 

A frown crumpled Morgana’s forehead again. “She died in childbirth. That’s why Uther turned against magic - it couldn’t save her and he blamed it for her death.”

 

The story was well known, all about how one man’s terrible grief had been the death of so many others since. In years passed, Morgana had felt a measure of pity for him, had understood that everything he’d done had come from the pain of lost love rather than an overall malice. Now she felt nothing but derision, bordering on something far stronger and more destructive.

 

Morgause’s short laugh held no joy at all.

 

“Such a pretty lie that he’s spun all these years. To make himself look so innocent in it all.”

 

This time, Morgana did sit up.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Her sister was clearly leading to something, and she’d rather just be told bluntly than play this game of words and intrigues.

 

“Uther and Igraine had been married several years,” Morgause explained carefully, as though this was the most important thing she had ever told Morgana. “He had no son. No heir at all. And carrying on his battle-won legacy was far more important to him than anything.”

 

That much was true. Uther had taken Camelot by force and had no birthright to it. The security of a throne depended on an heir. And men always wanted their bloodline to go on as tribute to them. But why was Morgause telling her this?

 

“I don’t-”

 

“He used magic,” her sister stated bluntly. “To ensure that Igraine conceived even though she was seemingly barren. But you cannot create a life from nothing. And so, when the time came, Igraine died in order for Arthur to live. That was the price of Uther’s legacy.”

 

Morgana was quite simply stunned, speechless and frozen as she took that in. Everyone knew that Igraine’s death had turned him against magic, but this… This terrible, murderous hypocrisy…

 

“Did he know…?” The words almost stuck in her throat.

 

“That she would die? I have no doubt that he knew there’d be a cost,” Morgause said, shaking her head in something akin to disgust. “He knew magic well enough to understand that the balance must be preserved. But he was arrogant enough to believe it would be inconsequential to him. And coward enough to blame others for his own failings.”

 

Morgana was silent for a very long moment, barely able to comprehend what that meant. Everything had been built on a lie, that much was clear. Every death, everything Camelot stood for was because one man had made a terrible, arrogant, selfish mistake and couldn’t face it. Innocent people had died horribly for his cowardice. Her people.

 

And she had been made to feel a monster when he was the greatest one of all.

 

“Everyone should be told,” she said quietly, almost numb. “They should know the man he is.”

 

Maybe then they would see what she did; he was not fit to be king.

 

“What, and leave the kingdom to Prince Arthur? A boy with a head for nothing more than wielding a sword?”

 

Morgause sounded distinctly unimpressed.

 

But Morgana wasn’t so certain. Arthur was a dilemma she was still unable to fathom out. On the one hand he was arrogant, bullish, brash and far too impressed with himself. He’d done some ridiculous things at his father’s insistence and to preserve his own honour. Yet, at the same time, she’d seen him display courage, bravery and loyalty. She’d seen a man of promise who would do what was right and damn the consequences. She’d tried to encourage that man once, but the more she’d become convinced of her magic, the more she was afraid to be around him, in case she were to open up, spill her dark secrets in a fit of madness and ruin everything.

 

Morgause frowned at her, looking confused herself.

 

“Do you have a higher opinion of him than I do, sister?”

 

“He’s a better man than his father,” Morgana replied cautiously, not wanting to disagree with Morgause but at the same time not convinced that Arthur would be their enemy. Or he shouldn’t be, even if the fact they were trying to kill his father would hardly make him kindly disposed toward them. If it was done right, if magic was not automatically suspected, then surely Camelot could be different under the reign of King Arthur? Maybe there could even be peace again.

 

Morgause looked pained, reaching up and caressing Morgana’s cheek almost as if she was sorry for what she was about to say.

 

“You truly trust him, don’t you?”

 

“I could,” she reasoned, worried by her expression. “He could be a good king.”

 

“He’s too loyal to his father,” Morgause dismissed, taking Morgana’s hand gently.

 

“He’s helped our people before,” Morgana explained. “I know he’s upheld the laws of Camelot, but he’s the crown prince. It doesn’t mean he thinks they’re right or-”

 

“He knows about his mother.”

 

The revelation was blunt and abrupt, as though Morgause didn’t want her to continue on a false belief any further. Like she was protecting her from a lie.

 

Morgana shook her head, suddenly uncertain. More not wanting to believe it than thinking her sister wasn’t telling her the truth.

 

“I told him myself,” Morgause explained, still holding her hands as though she understood this would be a deep blow. “I hoped he would be the honourable man he seemed on our first encounter. That this could all be solved with justice and then a new, wiser man on the throne of Camelot. But I told him and he did nothing about it. He lets his father continue to rule and upholds his barbaric laws even though he is fully aware of what they’re based on.”

 

Morgana didn’t know what to say. She’d always considered Arthur to be somewhat misguided, a good man trapped behind a veil of misplaced loyalty. But this was something else entirely. He knew what Uther had done and had simply ignored the matter. What kind of man did that?

 

Morgause drew her into an embrace.

 

“Forgive me,” she murmured. “I know the two of you were once close.”

 

“I have you now,” Morgana whispered hollowly, her mind too busy re-thinking near everything she’d thought she’d known.

 

Unseen to her, Morgause smiled.

 

**********

 

Morgause awoke to the lightest knock on her bedroom door in the deep of night. She wasn’t a heavy sleeper in the slightest, always on alert and so she sat up instantly, no trace of sleep on her and called for the person to enter.

 

When her sister slipped in, closing the door quietly behind her, Morgause relaxed the grip she had on her covers. She would not have let the Blood Guard see her in her sleepwear. Morgana walked across to the bed, her pale skin highlighted by the cool moon glow that poured through the window. The white silk dress she wore clung softly to her shape, showing how much healthier she was looking now. And how thoroughly beautiful she was, Morgause thought.

 

She shifted over on the bed, holding out her hands for her sister’s and encouraging her to sit.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked kindly. “More dreams?”

 

Morgana’s prophetic visions could be a powerful tool of theirs but Morgause knew it would be some time before Morgana would be proficient enough in magic to have any essence of control over them. Until then, even though she knew Morgana would do it if she asked, she wouldn’t allow her to take the bracelet off. She needed her sleep and Morgause could never be so cruel to her for any gain.

 

Still, that didn’t mean she didn’t get nightmares of a more mundane nature. She’d been through a great deal in the past few years and that was bound to strain anyone.

 

Morgana shook her head though.

 

“Camelot needs to be brought down,” she said, as though she had come to a great decision. “Nothing there is worth saving.”

 

Morgause felt a shiver of delight inside her as she saw that steely determination in her sister’s eyes.

 

“No one?” she pressed, testing almost. “Not even your maid?”

 

“The people can be given a chance,” she reasoned simply. “A chance to stand alongside us and see justice done.”

 

“And those who don’t?”

 

“Are our enemies.”

 

Morgause’s smile was a mixture of pleasure and pride. She pressed a brief, joyful kiss to her sister’s lips, cupping her cheek after before holding her hands again.

 

“What do you propose, sister?” she asked, feeling invigorated. Giving Morgana chance to be a true part of this as she had always wished for her to be.

 

“You said your plans with Cenred will work if you have an ally inside the castle. Who better and who less likely to be suspected than Uther’s lost ward, utterly relieved to be away from the bandits who took her?”

 

Morgause frowned a little. “I cannot ask you to do that.”

 

She knew Morgana had no desire to return to Camelot, nor did she want to lose her company.

 

“Is there another way?” Morgana challenged.

 

Something had changed in her, that much was clear. Lily’s death, the reveal of Uther’s true reasons, of Arthur’s betrayal of her belief in him…There was a hardness to the glint in her eye. It excited Morgause to witness the possibilities, even if she had a strong, instinct to protect Morgana from the coming storm. She wanted this for her sister, for her to feel powerful, to take her rightful place among their people. To stand at her side. But she couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her.

 

But Morgana was right. There was no one more perfect for the job she had in mind. Certainly no one she trusted so much, especially now that look of determination was on her sister’s face. It worried her a little though. Morgana could be so reckless…

 

“You must promise me one thing,” she insisted. “You will do exactly as I instruct. For your own safety. Do not try to deal out your own justice to those you think deserve it.”

 

“Like Merlin?” Morgana suggested, both syllables of his name dripping with the same kind of venom he’d made her drink.

 

“Like Merlin,” Morgause confirmed pointedly. “Be patient, my sister. When Camelot falls to us, he will get his just rewards I swear. But he’s only a servant and will not dare trouble you again.”

 

“As you wish,” Morgana said with a small smirk. Morgause trusted her though. “What of Cenred? Surely you don’t mean for him to rule Camelot?”

 

Morgana’s disdain for the man seemed to have only grown. Morgause could understand why in some ways. He certainly had a reputation for being an uncouth brute with little honour. But he amused her no end and his support was invaluable.

 

Just as Morgana’s near jealousy was touching.

 

“Of course not,” Morgause dismissed.

 

“So how do you intend upon making him give it up once his army takes the city.”

 

“He knows what will happen if he displeases me.”

 

Morgana grinned slightly at that.

 

Morgause kissed her sister’s cheek again and drew her down to lay beside her.

 

“Rest,” she insisted, wrapping her arms lightly around her as though she were the most precious thing. “In the morning I will begin preparing you for your task to come. My own, my sweet sister…”

 

For the first time in her life, Morgause realised, she had someone that she trusted entirely. The sensation was freeing and it left her drifting into a peaceful, relaxing sleep.

 

Dreaming of the victories to come.


	4. Part Three

PART THREE

 

Queen Morgana Pendragon looked out over her new kingdom with deep displeasure on her face. Camelot was theirs now. Uther was deposed and Arthur had fled in exile. Everything had worked out according to their plans. And yet still things were not right.

 

Well, technically the kingdom was hers, not theirs. She was Uther’s daughter after all, his eldest child and legitimate heir. It was hardly as if Arthur held any greater claim than she did beyond his gender. He was the product of magic and so who was to say he was even truly the son of Igraine? Nimueh could very well be considered his mother for all intents and purposes, the former queen little more than a vessel. He was a bastard child really. A male bastard which to some was important, but Morgana had never believed that men held any natural superiority over women.

 

Yes, Camelot belonged to Morgana now, but she shared it freely with her beloved sister. The woman who stood beside her throne and revelled in her accomplishments. Who looked at her with pride and adoration like no other ever had. Her place was always at Morgana’s side, as her equal. After all, what was she without her?

 

For the moment, at least, she was a troubled woman. For more than a week now she’d ruled. Uther was safely locked away, but Arthur and a handful of his knights outside the citadel were nowhere to be found. Not that they could hide forever nor had they many safe places to go. Uther had had a habit of making enemies and Morgana had made it clear that there would be a rich reward for anyone who could bring the renegade prince to her. No, he was little threat to her now.

 

And with that realisation, Morgana’s rule should have become more settled. She should be assured and as overjoyed as Morgause was, planning the future for their new kingdom, and yet constant headaches plagued her. The remaining knights would still not yield and her spies told her of whisperings among the people, of secret support for Uther, of those who openly doubted her rights. Who called her ‘wicked’ and ‘evil’.

 

She would have laughed if it wasn’t so worrying and frankly galling. What was wrong with them? Couldn’t they see the tyranny they’d lived under with Uther? They may have been safe from his pyres but what of their innocent neighbours? Their friends? Were the people of Camelot really so selfish?

 

Or had Uther really so successfully made them believe his hatred?

 

No, things hadn’t been easy in the last week, she accepted that, but she kept trying to remind herself that change was always difficult. If they simply gave her a chance she would give them a glorious kingdom of acceptance and peace in return. A place of justice where those who were truly to blame were rightly punished - and she was most saddened that Merlin had escaped with his master and so couldn’t become her first example of that. Her supposed friend. Morgana had no friends in Camelot.

 

Even Gwen had betrayed her.

 

The door to her chambers opened but she didn’t look away from the window. The room was guarded well and only one person would dare enter without knocking.

 

Her sister rested a delicate hand on her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her cheek and standing close behind her.

 

“You are troubled, dear one,” she murmured softly. The observation was obvious but it was an invitation for Morgana to share her troubles.

 

“How can they still support him?” she asked, watching the people scurrying below and feeling nothing but derision for every single one of them. “After all he did? The Old Religion was always fair to them and he was a tyrant.”

 

Morgause put an arm around her waist, comforting and supporting.

 

“Because they’re weak,” she said, as though the thoughts of such people were entirely inconsequential to her. “Because he poisoned their minds easily with his lies. Because they were safe under Uther and don’t care if others were not.”

 

“Then why should we even let them live in our kingdom?” Morgana asked, a bitter look on her face. “If they don’t even support our kind.”

 

“Because without the people there is no kingdom,” Morgause said simply. “And we are stronger when our numbers are greater, when we have farmers, labours, smiths, bakers… Magic cannot and should not do everything.”

 

“I wish it could.”

 

Morgana would be far more comfortable in a kingdom only of magic. Somewhere where she didn’t feel like an outcast, like she had to justify her very existence and prove herself. She shouldn’t have to - they were supposed to defer to her. Even now though, Camelot still didn’t feel like her home any more, and she feared that even if she ruled it for fifty years it never quite would be.

 

But it was her right, as Morgause kept telling her, and she didn’t want to let her sister down. Nor did she want Uther to win. The hate she had for him made her determined to beat him.

 

Her father. It made her sick to think of it. Even worse when she recalled how little he truly cared for her - how his care was a charade and he would have ended her life in flames if he’d discovered her secret. She wished she could somehow purge his blood from her veins. She felt tainted by it.

 

Morgause stroked her hair, clearly sensing her upset. Her affections were more pronounced of late, ever since Morgana had fallen down the stairs those few months back and had so nearly been lost. In fact, at times the look in Morgause’s eyes seemed almost beyond sisterly but Morgana never questioned it. She was simply grateful to have her at all.

 

“Once they see how strong you are, they’ll be proud to follow you,” she soothed. “Once they see that you are a fair queen who rewards loyalty and punishes traitors, they’ll never doubt you again.”

 

Morgana smiled a little at her.

 

“You wish them to see me as you do?” she teased gently.

 

A slightly smirk tugged at Morgause’s lips as though she was sharing a private joke with herself.

 

“I wish no one to see you like that.”

 

Morgana wasn’t quite brave enough to ask her what she really meant.

 

“Is that why you disposed of Cenred?” she asked instead, still a teasing note in her voice. “Because you didn’t like the way he looked at me?”

 

She doubted it was true, meaning it as nothing more than a jest. The nonw-dead king had apparently only had eyes for her sister and all she offered him. Morgana had been little more than a minor consideration. A means to an ends. She’d only met him once; Morgause hadn’t been very keen for him and her sister to cross paths.

 

“I would happily dispose of anyone who made even the merest hints about trying to take your throne,” Morgause said, an playful expression on her face. “He displeased me.”

 

Morgana couldn’t say she was sad to see the back of him.

 

“But his army will remain loyal?”

 

“To whoever possesses the cup,” Morgause assured her. “It is bound to whoever places their blood on the outside of it.”

 

Morgana nodded in understanding. Morgause hadn’t explained that before, not having gone into detail about how the magic worked.

 

“Wouldn’t it be wise to have the Blood Guard here though?”

 

She’d certainly noted their absence, surprisingly uncomfortable without them. She hadn’t expected the entire compliment of soldiers, but a private guard seemed wise to her. Someone to protect them whose loyalty was unquestionable.

 

“It is always prudent to have a fallback position,” Morgause said.

 

Morgana had learnt not to assume that that meant Morgause expected things to go wrong, simply that she was being her naturally cautious self. Still, it made her think. What if this did all go badly? What would there be for them then?

 

She couldn’t bear to let her sister down like that, not after all she’d done for her. She would have to get the loyalty of the people of Camelot one way or another.

 

“Come,” Morgause said, taking her hand and leading her from the window as though trying to distract her from troublesome thoughts. “Even a queen needs to eat.”

 

**********

 

Many hours later, a shadowed figure moved into the very edge of the courtyard that Morgana had stared at for so long that afternoon. The moon shone bright and large, silver light making the area easy to guard. But clouds were rolling in, a storm on its way. Only a fool would try to continue on at that moment, coming out of the shadows before the cover of heavy rain made it harder to be seen.

 

And Cenred was no fool.

 

That was why he’d had his men capture those druids when Morgause had relayed her plans to him, wanting to know more about this cup she was having him retrieve. More importantly, he wanted to know how to make it his. The answer was that he couldn’t, much to his own annoyance. Even the most heinous torture didn’t get him the answer he wanted. Only those of magic could use the cup. Which was indeed a problem. He couldn’t simply take it from Morgause and use it himself - he would gain nothing but a powerfully enraged enemy. But, at the same time, he was not about to hand over his army and the great kingdom next to his to her and her bastard sister.

 

Patience was not his strong suit and time had not been on his side. The druids’ dying breaths came quickly but with it other answers he’d been looking for. There was no way for him to enchant the cup, but he could protect himself from its affects and claim it for himself with a simple gift of blood and an amulet held by one of their elders which meant he would be immune to the cup’s powers of control. Apparently it’d been made on pain of death for a king many years before who’d wished to claim the cup for himself, not trusting his sorcerer to use it without betraying him. The parallels amused Cenred although he wouldn’t be as foolish as to put his faith the druid elders like that man had.

 

Cenred’s very best assassin had removed the amulet from the elder’s severed neck, placing it into his king’s hands mere hours before Morgause had made her grand entrance to say how pleased she was with him.

 

Fooling her had been easier than he’d hoped, and it almost made him want to reveal himself to her just so he could see the look of dumb disbelief on her face. She was a magnificent woman to be sure, but far too impressed with herself. He’d like to be the one to teach her the meaning of respect.

 

The ritual had taken many hours, such a vast army to enchant, and it was easy for Cenred to claim boredom and leave her to it. Only to change into the uniform of one of his elite foot soldiers, with their hood and mask, amulet hidden beneath his armour, and slip into the crowd. She didn’t even look at him as she took his blood and performed the ritual. The High Priestess clearly felt no need to debase herself by engaging with the common infantry.

 

Just as he knew she had no intention of sharing power with him. The only surprise was that she made his own men do it rather than completing the deed herself. He’d put up a good show, fighting back and ‘dying’ most convincingly. He was worried she might decide to do something vindictive with his body but she seemed thoroughly disinterested in him, ordering the guards to prepare to march on Camelot and leaving him on his throne room floor.

 

She always had underestimated him.

 

The first large drops of rain began to fall, the vanguard of a torrential downpour, which would be thoroughly to his advantage. Cenred had not become such a powerful ruler by delegating what must be done to others; he was a powerful and proficient warrior in his own right. Unsheathing his swords, he hurried across the courtyard, as nimble as a hunting cat. The guard patrolling by the well didn’t even have a chance to scream before his head was rolling through the puddles. Cenred threw his body down the well, removing the man’s tongue and tossing it away before dropping the head down there as well. He understood that the action wouldn’t kill the guard and he wasn’t sure of their ability to reattach severed parts, but it would be some time before he was in any position to raise the alarm.

 

Long enough for Cenred to find the Cup, bind himself to it instead and claim back his army. Before claiming his new kingdom.

 

He smirked to himself as he hurried swiftly into the shadows once more.

 

Perhaps he’d claim a new bride too. Morgana was beautiful but haughty, just ripe to be broken. And once he’d dealt with Prince Arthur, her children would be the only legitimate heirs to Camelot. Cenred would have to ensure that they were his children.

 

He might even keep her sister around long enough for her to know about it.


	5. Part Four

Arthur was trying not to think. Not necessarily the best tactic when planning an assault on a heavily armed castle with just himself and six men - well, five men and Merlin - but thinking too much had led him to such a period of heavy depression that he’d allowed his father to languish in a dungeon for a week. No, thinking was unwise when he could rely on his well honed instincts to get them through this.

 

Then he could consider everything. Try to come to terms with the fact that Morgana was his sister. His half sister - Uther’s illegitimate daughter. Gaius had explained it but he’d barely been listening - something about Vivian being lonely, Gorlois at war…

 

But she was his sister. He’d always loved her like a sister and so that made sense in a manner. And yet she’d betrayed them all for the sorceress Morgause.

 

Who was her half sister too, apparently.

 

At that point he’d had rather a large headache and waved all further explanations away.

 

The problem with the day long trek to Camelot however was that it gave him far too much time to think again. Not about Morgana who he almost violent pushed from his thoughts every time she came near them, but about the others.

 

They’d pitied him in the ruins, he’d seen that, mumbling apologies, telling him they wished he’d found out another way. Because they’d already known long before this. Merlin, Gaius…even Gwen had a rather guilty look on her face that didn’t sit well there at all.

 

Part of him wanted to shout at them, to berate them for keeping him in the dark, to ask how they dare keep such secrets from the Crown Prince of Camelot. But the rest of him was more concerned. Why hadn’t they told him? Why couldn’t they trust him?

 

And what else were they keeping from him?

 

He simply had to believe that they were being truthful now, that no more secrets lay between them. Their odds of surviving were somewhat poor as it was, but they wouldn’t get through this at all if there was no trust between them. The people of Camelot - his father too - needed them to be united.

 

But he still looked at Gaius, his father’s oldest adviser, wondering what else he was privy to that may come back to haunt them. He looked at Merlin who often played dumb but seemed to be determined to see him king, as though he had his own agenda. He looked at Gwaine and Percival, men with no kingdom and no true loyalty, wondering if they could be trusted to the end if things went poorly. He even looked at Gwen, wondering how she felt about the returned Lancelot, knowing she was skilled at guarding her feelings when she thought it was needed.

 

He didn’t like to doubt them but would he be a fool not to?

 

If Morgana was here she’d berate him for such weakness, telling him that he had to be strong. Be a ruler. The irony was now he needed her counsel more than ever and she had chosen to ally herself with his enemies instead. She was lost to him.

 

Or at least he supposed she was. He wasn’t exactly sure what he would do with her if they won. Treason of such kind should mean execution but he couldn’t even contemplate that at the moment. Surely there was another way? A treaty of sorts that could be made. Part of him could understand her anger - if she’d found out that Uther was her father and he’d lied to her all these years then she was bound to be deeply hurt. And who knew what lies Morgause had told her? Or if Morgana was even acting of her own accord. Maybe she was enchanted…

 

He snorted a laugh to himself as he realised that Morgana would probably berate him again, for the weakness of giving her the benefit of the doubt.

 

Gwaine fell into step beside him, casually strolling up.

 

“How are you doing?” he asked.

 

Arthur frowned at him. Well if you were going to ask a stupid question…

 

“That well, hmm?” Gwaine asked, completely not bothered by the visual scolding. “Well it may not be the best time to tell you then that we’re being followed.”

 

Arthur’s frown deepened to concern.

 

“One of Morgause’s men?”

 

It was telling he supposed that he couldn’t place the blame on Morgana.

 

Gwaine’s face quirked into a half smile. “Not exactly.”

 

A rudimentary plan was formed in a mere couple of whispers. The knights got the message with a few meaningful glances, Lancelot dragging Merlin with him as they disappeared into the thick undergrowth on the side of the road at Arthur’s command.

 

It only took moments for Gwen to appear in the clearing, looking confused and frankly annoyed, hands on hips.

 

So Gwaine had been right to suspect it was her. And definitely not a bandit sneaking to attack them then like Arthur had thought. Or hoped.

 

“What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded, standing up from his prepared ambush, not caring that he startled her. She was supposed to be waiting safely back at the ruins with Gaius. She deserved to be startled at least.

 

Gwen looked even more annoyed by the fact that he’d managed to make her jump, straightening up, a defiant expression on her face. As though trying to out ‘command’ him. She almost managed it.

 

“Camelot is my home,” she said firmly. “I’m not going to be left behind like baggage whilst you all risk yourself for it.”

 

Arthur stomped rather ungracefully out of the undergrowth, sword catching on a bush that he had to tug free. The knights stood up, milling around and looking somewhat embarrassed. Apparently pretending they weren’t overhearing this conversation.

 

Merlin, he noted, headed up the small ridge that would give them the first view of Camelot. Arthur would have barked at him to not get a bloody arrow stuck through him if he wasn’t so focused on Gwen.

 

“I left you behind so you’d be safe,” he reasoned hotly. “This isn’t a game, Guinevere.”

 

“I didn’t think it was,” she retorted as though affronted by the suggestion. “I’m not completely useless you know. I can make bandages and collect wood? My father was a blacksmith, remember? I know how to handle a sword.”

 

“I’m not saying you don’t but-”

 

“Shut up!”

 

They both turned and glared at Merlin who looked suitably chagrined as he came to a stop after hurrying back down the slope again.

 

“Please,” he added more politely, a deeply concerned look on his face. “Something’s wrong.”

 

*************

 

‘Something’s wrong…’ Arthur thought caustically as they neared the small, poorly guarded side gate. ‘Well, yes if that wasn’t an understatement…’

 

Annoyingly enough though, Merlin was right. They’d hurriedly crawled to the top of the ridge to look down upon Camelot on his insistence.

 

It took Arthur a long moment to figure out what was so amiss. The castle looked peaceful, as if nothing had changed at all. Then he noticed the flags; not decorated with the tree of life, the symbol of the Old Religion that he’d seen at Morgana’s coronation, but with a black serpent. Cenred’s symbol.

 

“Why would Morgana allow Cenred to take over?” Arthur asked with a frown, not realising that he’d spoken that question aloud until Gwen had answered him.

 

“She wouldn’t,” she said simply, looking a mixture of confused and troubled. “Cenred’s dead.”

 

Arthur made no further comment on that, simply indicating for the others to follow him and keep down. There was no point in speculating after all. It was far better to get there and see the situation for themselves, make decisions on the facts rather than guesses.

 

There was also no point, he’d reasoned reluctantly, in trying to tell Gwen to stay put or sending her back again. She was stubborn when she thought she was right and it was better not to waste time arguing with her. Nor to risk her sneaking into Camelot regardless and getting hurt when he couldn’t keep a watch on her.

 

Guards patrolled thoroughly, moving automatically as though they weren’t thinking, breathing people, but Arthur knew his castle better than any of them did. He watched them for a short while, seeing where the blind spots were and taking advantage of them. He led the others passed the rarely used side gate and over to the original cellar entrance. That particular underground chamber and passages had fallen out of use before he could remember - apparently they were too prone to flooding and therefore no good as a place to store food. He’d played in them as a child though, battling monsters and fighting dragons, believing that he could truly hear their heavy breaths tracking him down the dark corridors. The entrance had been long overgrown, covered in trailing plants and grasses, but he knew where it was like it was only yesterday that he’d last been here.

 

Between them they hurriedly cleared away the vegetation, tearing at the stubborn vines with their bare hands, worried that swords would make too much noise. They only had minutes before the patrol route brought a guard back within sight of them again.

 

The passage was dark inside, darker still when they had to close the door behind them to conceal their entrance. Somehow Merlin was lucky and found a torch, lighting it with an ease that impressed Arthur somewhat. He clearly wasn’t completely lacking in skill.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

Stupid questions were less impressive though.

 

“As close as we can get to the throne room,” he said with a huff, the answer obvious for anyone with half a brain. “We need to find out what’s going on.”

 

He continued onwards, the others falling into step behind him, clearly presuming that he knew where he was going. Which he did. Of sorts. He knew a ladder up to the secondary wine cellar was down one of these passages. The others could wait there whilst he tried to sneak into the heart of the castle. One man could get in far easier than a small group.

 

“What about Morgana and Morgause?”

 

Merlin sounded distinctly worried about them.

 

“They’re in the dungeon, I suppose.”

 

Arthur was less worried. At least not by them. If Cenred was in charge as it appeared, then who knew what he’d done with the sisters. Either way, it seemed they weren’t the threat any more. Was it wrong that he was the tiniest bit worried for Morgana’s safety?

 

Merlin didn’t seem convinced by his assumption.

 

“You think Cenred is capable of keeping someone like Morgause contained?”

 

Arthur huffed. "What are you saying?”

 

And it better not be that Cenred had probably disposed of them both because Arthur certainly wasn’t ready to hear that Morgana was dead.

 

“That they’re still here,” Merlin said with a simple shrug as though he thought that should be obvious. “Somewhere.”

 

“Really?” The response was as dry and sarcastic as he could muster.

 

“They’re not going to give up all this without a fight,” Merlin said. “Not after they fought so hard to get it. You know Morgana. You know how stubborn she is when she thinks she’s right…”

 

No, he wanted to correct, he thought he’d known Morgana.

 

Arthur turned easily to irritation to hide the pain he felt at that.

 

“They’re long gone by now,” he said firmly.

 

“Really?”

 

The voice from the darkness was hard and sarcastic, a mirror of his own mocking but all too familiar. Apparently he really didn’t know her after all.

 

Swords were drawn as Morgana stepped into the torchlight, Morgause close behind her. The younger woman had a look of defiance on her face, almost as if she was daring them to say anything. Morgause was more measured and far more wary. She wore chain-mail, just as she had the first time she’d entered Camelot, and her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. Expecting a fight it seemed.

 

Silence and tension reigned for a moment.

 

“You’d better follow us,” Morgana said coolly, her face set in a mask of detachment. “Cenred’s men will be down to search here soon and your merry band doesn’t want to run into them. You’ll be slaughtered.”

 

Her manner was so superior it put Arthur’s back up straight away.

 

“And what are you doing down here, Morgana?” he demanded, annoyed that she could make him so angry.

 

“You used to play here,” she said simply, apparently amused by the notion that he was surprised she knew him so well. She walked passed Merlin and snatched the torch from him. “I knew it’s where you’d enter.”

 

She and Morgause walked off, assuming they’d follow.

 

Arthur nearly considered not doing so but something told him not to be a fool. He glanced at Gwen who simply shrugged, looking resigned to the inevitable.

 

“They wanted you dead before,” she reasoned. “If that hadn’t changed they probably would have tried to kill you already.”

 

Perhaps. Or perhaps they’d decided to turn him and his allies over to Cenred in hope of some reward. And yet his gut told him otherwise and so he followed, keeping a wary distance.

 

Not that he was sure he should be listening to his instinct any more. It hadn’t warned him about Morgana after all.

 

**********

 

“So he tricked you?”

 

The stables were only lit by moonlight but still Morgana could see the pleased look on Arthur’s face. Like a petulant child, she thought, trying to get one up on another person.

 

Did he think this was a game?

 

“No,” she insisted, “he was more distrustful than we imagined.”

 

Arthur snorted a laugh.

 

“Not trust you? I can’t imagine why…”

 

Morgana could quite cheerfully slap that expression from his face, the hateful boy, but Morgause’s hand was light on her arm, a silent reminder of the truth; they needed him.

 

Cenred’s sudden reappearance had taken them both by surprise. She and Morgause had been in the throne room, discussing the issue of Arthur. He was continuing to evade them and his near capture had shown he was far closer to Camelot than either of them were comfortable with. They had to take more decisive action and not just wait around for him to make whatever move he was planning. He was a thorn in their side that needed quick removal if Morgana’s throne was to be secure.

 

Morgause had given the guards a simple command, demanding that they continue the search for Arthur. When they hadn’t responded, her sister had frowned, insisting that they obeyed her.

 

Only then had Cenred laughed and walked from the shadows, the Cup of Life in his hand and an out of place amulet around his neck.

 

For the first time, Morgana had seen genuine shock on her sister’s face. Followed by the deepest anger.

 

They’d barely escaped with their lives, Morgause wrapping her arms around Morgana and taking her to safety in a whirlwind just as a volley of arrows came toward them. Morgause was powerful, true, but she was also horribly outnumbered by immortal foes. This was not a time for fighting.

 

They’d not however gone back to their own castle as Morgana had half expected but to her bed chamber, Morgause telling her hurriedly to change into something suitable for the catacombs. The guards would start to search soon and they didn’t have long.

 

Another swirl of wind had taken them to the deep caves below Camelot. Rumour had it that a dragon had once been captive there, and Morgana thought she could see claw marks in the rough walls. Another of Uther’s prisoners although this one had seemingly escaped. Pity. They could do with a dragon at the moment.

 

Still at least they would be safe down here for now.

 

Despite the situation, Morgause made it abundantly clear that she was not about to give up Camelot. She certainly was not prepared to surrender it to Cenred in light of such a betrayal. It was her sister’s kingdom, she said fiercely, and she would see it returned to her.

 

For hours she’d stalked back and forth in the caves, furious and trying to think of a way to regain the Cup. None of which could be achieved without great risk.

 

Morgana had eventually made her sit and a short while later had exhaustedly fallen asleep in Morgaus’s arms, knowing she was safe with her despite their situation.

 

She had been surprised when the dreams came. A vision of Arthur, walking through the old cellar passages she’d chased him out of as a child.

 

When she’d woken, she’d instantly checked, finding her bracelet still safely in place. Hardly surprising since she never took it off. She remembered though what Morgause said about some visions being so important that it wouldn’t stop them - things that needed to be seen would make themselves known regardless - and immediately she wondered...

 

Morgause had smiled when Morgana had relayed what she’d seen. The vision was a gift from the goddess, she said. Taking Morgana’s hand she’d instructed her to lead them to these tunnels. She sensed an unlikely alliance on the horizon.

 

Not that they were exactly allied so far. Arthur’s motley band of knights were very careful not to say anything, waiting for a decision from their prince. Gwen eyed her warily and with something akin to sadness on her face, which left Morgana equal parts upset and annoyed. Merlin looked very unhappy about the whole thing, his distrust clear. Arthur was simply angry.

 

Which suited her fine. She was angry at him too - having to pretend not to be who she was all these months had eaten away at her.

 

“Why are you even still here?” Merlin interrupted, apparently wanting to get to the crux of the matter rather than listen to them simply bicker.

 

“We don’t want Cenred in charge of Camelot any more than you do,” Morgause said in a matter of fact way. “It suits neither of our purposes.”

 

Arthur folded his arms across his chest.

 

“Your purpose being to execute my father and attack my people?”

 

“As you have attacked mine?” Morgause challenged, eyes flashing with anger. “From since you could wield a sword? Doing what your monstrous father said without question?”

 

“We know where Cenred’s keeping the Cup,” Morgana interjected before a full blown argument erupted. Her hand soothing her sister with a light touch this time. She didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary with these people. “My sister can sense it.”

 

Morgana couldn’t help but look at her with a warm, devoted pride.

 

“We need to retrieve it.”

 

“Then why haven’t you?” Merlin asked, an air of suspicion in his voice.

 

Arthur gave him a look as if wondering since when he’d considered himself in charge here.

 

“The risk was too great,” Morgause replied. “It would have been foolhardy to attack Cenred and put ourselves at such risk.”

 

“But you’ll happily put my men at risk,” Arthur reasoned.

 

“Of course,” Morgause smirked. “But if you wish to help your kingdom then you are going to need to take risks and you will require our assistance.”

 

He gave her a hard look.

 

“You’ve given Cenred an immortal army. We’re less than a dozen people. Your assistance isn’t going to exactly make the odds much better.”

 

“Come now, Arthur,” Morgana retorted, unable as always to resist a dig at him. “You like to boast about your prowess. Now’s the time to show your quality.”

 

A smile quirked her sister’s lips.

 

“We don’t need an army,” Morgause continued. “Simply distraction enough to get to the Cup.”

 

Arthur still looked unimpressed.

 

“And how many will die in your distraction?”

 

Morgause said nothing, eyes closing a moment. When she opened them again, they were glowing a brilliant amber. Sir Leon and several of the others took a step back, going for their swords. Even Arthur looked surprised and tense as though he expected a fight.

 

Fools.

 

Morgause muttered the spell, her words strong and powerful. Assured. Morgana wished she could have such command of her own magic.

 

“There,” she said with a nod, once she was done. “My guards will be here by dawn. And I’ll tell you where your knights are being held so you can release them too? Are those more agreeable odds for you?”

 

“You’ll tell us now,” Arthur insisted.

 

Morgause raised an eyebrow. “And don’t you think Cenred will be rather curious as to where they’ve got to?”

 

“If he doesn’t execute them for fun in the meantime.”

 

“Oh no, I’m sure he’d rather do that in daylight and with an audience. We’ll stay here until first light and then attack.”

 

Arthur looked most put out by being commanded but apparently couldn’t find a fault in the idea and so simply nodded.

 

Sensing the discussion was done, Morgana gently took her sister’s arm. She wanted to talk to her.

 

Walking to the back of one of the stalls, she ignored how the others muttered among themselves, looking at them with suspicion. She didn’t care for any of their opinions, just as they didn’t care for her. Not the true her.

 

“Is this really wise?” she asked. “Trusting them? Risking the Blood Guard?”

 

“Cenred took your kingdom and fooled me,” Morgause said firmly. “That cannot go unpunished.”

 

“At least Cenred doesn’t murder our kind out of spite,” she pointed out, not defending him but not at all happy with the alternative on offer here. “If we hand Camelot back to Arthur…”

 

Morgause cupped her cheek.

 

“Who said anything about handing it back to Arthur?” she grinned.

 

“You mean to deceive him?”

 

“I mean to take back the Cup. Cenred's army will be destroyed, we can't avoid that, but we will have our own forces in the city by then. And who is to say how many knights Arthur will lose in this endeavour. Or if he will be able to hold the citadel with those that remain.”

 

For the first time in many hours, Morgana smiled with pleasure.

 

**********

 

“We can’t seriously be thinking about trusting them,” Merlin whispered as he watched the sisters talking.

 

Arthur huffed a sigh. Did his manservant think he was a total idiot?

 

“And what do you suggest we do, Merlin? What other options do we have?”

 

Merlin opened his mouth and then paused, as though all the ideas in his head were not going to sound as good out loud. Probably wise.

 

“We could go after this Cup ourselves,” Gwaine suggested. “I mean, if all we have to do is spill the blood inside it…”

 

Arthur shook his head.

 

“Cenred will be expect an attack - from them if not from us. It’s too risky with the numbers we have. We need these troops Morgause has summoned.”

 

Lancelot, who’d been notably quiet so far, spoke up.

 

“Forgive me, sire,” he said with a polite nod. “But what’s to stop them using these troops to regain control of Camelot after the battle is over? If they outnumber us you could be ridding yourself of one usurper by inviting another inside the walls.”

 

Arthur had most definitely considered that.

 

“I know. We’ll have to deal with that if and when it comes to it. For now, we have no choice. We can’t hope to take Cenred and his army without help. We have a duty to the people of Camelot. And my father.”

 

Gwen looked troubled.

 

“We need to make sure he’s safe,” she reasoned. “Morgana was so angry at him. She hates him so much…”

 

Arthur felt a disturbed chill at that, understanding what Gwen was getting at. If all else was lost, Morgana might go after his father - their father - out of sheer spite. He knew all too well how her emotions could rule her.

 

“We’ll see him safe,” he agreed with a nod.

 

It was several hours later before he plucked up the courage to speak to Morgana. Not that he was at all afraid of her as such, more that he had no idea what to say beyond words of hate that didn’t ring quite true. He didn’t really hate her but he certainly didn’t love her right now. He simply felt conflicted and without any real wish to face this.

 

But he knew that he had to eventually and it was better to do so now than be distracted in battle by other thoughts. That could get a man killed.

 

Morgana was sitting outside the end stall, Morgause down by the door, waiting for the imminent arrival of her men. It was the first time they’d been more than a few feet apart, Morgana choosing to remain by the other woman’s side and keep herself separate from him and his knights. It seemed almost unreal somehow. She didn’t belong there. She was a lady of Camelot.

 

He still, it seemed, couldn’t get his mind around the idea that Morgana was the enemy. Maybe he never would.

 

She was sharpening the blade of the long, delicate dagger he’d bought her for her birthday - as he’d once taught her to do, he remembered - and purposely ignored him when he walked up to her. It forced him to speak out right what he’d meant to lead more graciously up to.

 

“When this is over, you’ll have to leave,” he said bluntly and calmly, trying to be the prince and take control.

 

Morgana simply looked up at him, a coldly amused smile on her face. She said nothing.

 

“You’ll have one day’s grace before we consider you an enemy of Camelot. You should make a good distance from here by then.”

 

“Do you mean to hunt me down, Arthur?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice. Her tongue curled around the syllables of his name, making a mockery of every time she’d ever used it with a hint of affection.

 

The truthful answer to her question was ‘no’. Even now he had no stomach for it. Just looking at her face…

 

“You know the law, Morgana,” he answered, staying formal when he wanted to rant at her. “You know the punishment for treason.”

 

“Is it treason to depose a tyrant?”

 

Arthur was instantly defensive.

 

“My father has kept this kingdom safe for twenty years,” he said firmly, hating that he rose to her bait. She could always get to him though. She knew all his weakness and that worried him now.

 

“By murdering people and angering others into attack?” she laughed harshly. “Oh yes, he’s done his job so well. No wonder the people believe his lies.”

 

Arthur could see her hatred, almost like a physical thing shrouding her and covering the Morgana he’d known.

 

He shook his head, suddenly feeling something akin to grief as he understood how badly he’d lost her. And how much he would miss her.

 

“You were like a sister to me…” he murmured, hating to see what had happened to her. How easily she could have turned on them.

 

Why hadn’t she come to him with whatever was troubling her? Why hadn’t she confided in him? Surely she’d known that he would have done anything to help her.

 

“’Like’?” she asked, a bitterness in her voice, apparently not caring for his hurt.

 

He could almost understand that anger. If he’d found out he’d been lied to for so long about something so important he might feel the same.

 

That didn’t mean he would start a war over it though.

 

“You were always selfish,” he said, shaking his head, tiring of her accusing looks. “Even when you think about others, it’s about your own feelings. What you want. What you believe is right. My father was good to you. You owe him better than this.”

 

Morgana looked up sharply, true, fierce anger in her eyes. He’d clearly touched a nerve.

 

“He lied to me,” she said hotly. “All my life. He was ashamed of me. However much he said he loved me like a daughter, he wouldn’t acknowledge me as one. And why would he when he had his precious son to think of?”

 

Arthur shook his head. Did she think she was so second best in Uther’s eyes? If only she’d known how much he envied the love his father seemed to bear for her. A love he found hard to show towards his son for some reason.

 

“He would have done anything for you. You didn’t see what he was like when you were taken, how he worried himself half to death…”

 

“Shame he didn’t worry harder,” she spat.

 

If she’d been a man, he would have struck her for that.

 

“I know he lied to you Morgana,” he said anger barely in check. “And I’m sorry. But that doesn’t excuse all this. He loved you, he took you in, gave you a home...”

 

And a family.

 

“And would have had me executed on a moment’s notice,” she finished. “So what do I owe him exactly?”

 

Arthur frowned at that comment, suddenly confused. She and his father had had their differences, but even she must understand that he never would have gone that far over a disagreement. He wasn’t a perfect man but he wasn’t a monster either.

 

“What has she told you?” he asked, looking down the stables at Morgause with the deepest dislike. “What has she done to you?”

 

“She saved me,” Morgana said, sounding utterly convinced of that.

 

Now Arthur was completely confused.

 

“I don’t understand,” he admitted. She’d been brought up in Camelot, had seen the cruelty and destruction that Morgause and her kind brought. “Why would you side with them?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

And her eyes flashed a brilliant amber as the bucket near his feet violently clattered over without anyone touching it.

 

Arthur had never been more speechless in his life.

 

“So tell me,” she spat, more venom than he could possibly imagine in her words as her face contorted with hate. “What loyalty do I owe Uther Pendragon?”


	6. Part Five

The courtyard was deathly silent as the very first rays of dawn struck the pavestones. There was a red hue in the sky, an auspicious sign for an impending battle. That pleased Morgause greatly.

 

She’d agreed to allow Merlin and one of the knights - Lancelot? They all looked much the same to her - to go after the Cup and free the imprisoned men whilst the rest of them distracted Cenred in the courtyard. Merlin had insisted he be the one to go, saying that he’d be no good in the fight anyway but that he knew the castle well enough to sneak around.

 

Morgana hadn’t been happy with the idea at all; Merlin had a terrible tendency of getting in the way of everything they tried to achieve, she’d said. And it was rather obvious that he’d offered simply because he didn’t trust them. Morgause had insisted that Morgana trust her though. As long as she, Morgana and Arthur were in the courtyard, Cenred would be less likely to believe the Cup under threat. He knew how Morgause planned and wouldn’t think she’d trust anyone else to retrieve such an object.

 

Besides, the boy was hardly a proficient fighter and it would be easy to take the Cup from him afterwards. And a pleasure to kill him for all that he’d done.

 

“We’re ready,” Morgause said, checking her sword was positioned at her hip just how she liked it. She saw the glance of approval that Morgana gave her and it made her smile.

 

Arthur looked uncertain. And why wouldn’t he? The young prince lacked the art of subtly and they distinctly lacked an army breaking down the gate.

 

He looked even less impressed when another of his knights - the tall bearded one - climbed back through the rear window and reported that no soldiers were in sight.

 

“What game is this?” he demanded, looking worried beneath his attempt at command.

 

That amused her somewhat.

 

“You thought my men would march up to the gates in full view?” she asked with a smirk. “How simple you really are…”

 

Arthur looked torn, as though he wasn’t certain whether she was leading him into an excellent plan or an obvious trap.

 

Morgause turned to her sister, squeezing her hand.

 

“Be careful,” she murmured, loud enough so only she could hear. “Take no risks. When the time comes, I will signal and you will come immediately to me.”

 

Morgana nodded.

 

Morgause then looked at Merlin.

 

“If you wish your prince to live, you’ll ensure you free those knights on your way and they get up here quickly.”

 

“He can count on me,” the boy said, a stony determination in his eyes. Morgause almost admired him for that.

 

With a final look at her sister, Morgause strode purposefully from the stables.

 

The shouts went up immediately, two men running from the gate to tackle her. She dispatched them both with two easy swings of her sword. It was a pity that they’d get up again, but the missing limbs would slow them down.

 

Morgana, Arthur and his knights followed her. Even Morgana’s former maid was wielding a sword. It was a pity that she was so enamoured of Arthur. A girl of that courage would have made a fine replacement for Lily.

 

The alarm bell rang and more men hurried into the courtyard, the sound of boots on stone telling Morgause that even more were on their way. Good. The more here, the fewer guarding the Cup.

 

She ushered her temporary allies into a circle as she caught sight of Merlin and the knight slipping away.

 

“Where are your men?” Arthur demanded as he held off three soldiers who attacked him simultaneously.

 

The worried look on his face pleased her and she let him stew a moment before she loudly spoke the spell.

 

Like mirages the Blood Guard appeared on the outskirts of the courtyard. They’d been there for hours in fact, concealed by Morgause’s spell. And now Cenred’s guards, instead of having Morgause and the others surrounded, were trapped between the two forces.

 

Of living men, it would have been a massacre. As it was, a mass of detached limbs began to litter the ground, all the fighters quickly realising that dismemberment was the only real way to slow them down even if they couldn’t be stopped.

 

They were a small band but skilled, dealing with dozens. Hundreds even. Yet they were against potentially thousands. Winning this fight would take more than brute force alone.

 

Fortunately, they wouldn’t have to rely on strength as long as the boy proved as tenacious as he was starting to prove.

 

Losing Cenred’s army would be unfortunate for her but, with the Blood Guard, Morgause’s forces outnumbered Arthur’s remaining men at least three to one even with the aid of those currently imprisoned. Reclaiming Camelot would merely be a formality afterwards, and this time she could make an immortal army who already owed her a sacred and unbreakable allegiance. Perhaps she should have used the Blood Guard in the first place after all.

 

But no one would fool her again.

 

The sound of laughter rang out jarringly over the courtyard, and Morgause looked up to the battlements to see Cenred watching the fight with clear amusement on his face.

 

“My lady Morgause,” he said, bowing theatrically. “And Prince Arthur. What entertainment this will be!”

 

And he stood, apparently happy to watch the inevitable bloodshed below.

 

Morgause smiled and the expression on his face faltered a little. He was right to be wary of her.

 

Dispatching the two more men - and taking a glance at her sister to check she was well - Morgause used a blast of magic to clear a path between her and the main gate.

 

And then a much larger blast to attack it.

 

It rattled violently on its hinges, but didn’t break.

 

“Not as powerful as you think?” Cenred taunted. “Disappointing.”

 

Morgause was still smiling. And as well she should be.

 

The sound of wood splintering cracked through the air as a violent impact struck the gate, this time from the other side. Several of Cenred’s men lost their heads as they were distracted and glanced to see what was happening rather than keeping their attention on those they were fighting.

 

None of Arthur’s fighters were so foolish.

 

The impact happened again, and again, the gate creaking and buckling in protest until finally it surrendered.

 

The fighting paused just a moment whilst all took in the sight of two dozen horse sized scorpions scuttling into the yard, their legs making a horrible clatter on the cobbled floor.

 

Morgana smiled at her sister, pleased at seeing such a display of power.

 

With a yell, Arthur dived back into the fight, his men following him.

 

The scorpion’s hides were hard and Morgause knew they had only a few weak spots as Cenred’s men discovered to their cost when their swords bounced off them, leaving them unharmed. Their pincers and tails however were deadly, tearing men in half and running them through with wounds that meant that even if they were incapable of dying, they were in no fit state to fight.

 

Arthur looked warily at the creatures, probably wondering if they were instructed to attack everyone. But he had no real time to do anything about it as he was attacked again.

 

Much to Morgause’s pleasure, Cenred started to look worried. Maybe this rebellious force would still lose, but not without hideous losses to his own forces. Invulnerable or not, men without limbs couldn’t fight.

 

Drawing his own swords, he pushed two of his men over the stone stairs as he hurried down to join the fight.

 

Her anger at his betrayal still hard and fiercely burning, Morgause wanted to attack him herself but she was already facing three men and was too confined to use her magic without risk injuring those fighting with her.

 

Arthur reached the king first.

 

Cenred laughed.

 

“Such a pleasure to meet you again under these circumstances,” he said, mocking Arthur with a bow.

 

The young prince swung at him fiercely, apparently not in the mood for small talk.

 

In the distance, she saw more knights appear from one of the doorways, joining the fray. Merlin and his friend must have got that far at least then.

 

Morgause had to admit that Arthur was a proficient fighter. He swung his sword with precision and force, moving instinctively, blocking with a mind to where he could create an opening for his next attack. On most days she would probably give him the upper hand against Cenred, but this was not most days. Cenred fought with the recklessness of a man who knew he couldn’t be harmed and Arthur was already tired from fighting. Not to mention that Cenred was older, more experienced and had far fewer qualms about fighting unfairly, using his men as a shield to block Arthur’s blows. If he wasn’t careful, the young prince was going to lose his head.

 

Not that Morgause particularly cared.

 

Morgana, it seemed though, did. Or at least she was angry enough at Cenred to attack him too, working alongside her brother. Arthur had trained her, she’d told Morgause and it showed in the way she fought, their styles quite similar except for Morgana’s extra grace.

 

An uneasy feeling settled over Morgause as Cenred smiled at her sister. Like a man who had seen his prey. Immediately, she dispatched the two men around her and started to head over to her. It was time to prepare for their plan to claim the Cup.

 

Cenred saw her coming.

 

“A gift for you, my lady,” he called out. “A token to show you my deep appreciation.”

 

He grabbed one of his guards by the shirt and all but threw him one handed at Arthur, making the prince stumble back. Morgana’s distraction was only momentary, but it was enough. He punched her viciously across the nose, hard enough to break it.

 

And then he grabbed her by the shoulder and stabbed her low in the stomach.

 

**********

 

“You’re expecting them to come for it, aren’t you?” Lancelot asked, huffing with exertion as he dispatched another guard the best he could. The larger share of the fighting had fallen on him as they’d made their way to where Morgause said the Cup was and Merlin felt bad that he wasn’t more help.

 

A couple of the soldiers they’d released had offered to stay with them, but Lancelot had told them to go to the courtyard and assist the prince.

 

And, Merlin suspected, he wanted as many swords up there as possible for another reason: Gwen was safer that way.

 

“Do you think they’re just going to hand over Camelot and leave quietly?” Merlin asked as they cautiously rounded the next corner.

 

Lancelot nodded in acknowledgement.

 

“They wouldn’t be helping us out of the goodness of their hearts,” he agreed.

 

Merlin snorted a laugh at the notion.

 

“So what are you going to do?” the knight asked.

 

“Once the Cup is emptied, I’ll send it away somewhere. Somewhere they won’t find it.”

 

**********

 

Morgause had never felt rage like it. Cenred was laughing as Morgana slumped, shocked, to her knees in front of him, blood spilling through her fingers as she grasped desperately at the wound. Arthur was quickly dealing with the man Cenred had distracted him with, trying to get to her.

 

Morgause’s eyes were fixed on Cenred, a terrible, all consuming anger on her face. Any other person would have been terrified at the sight but he only laughed.

 

She didn’t even gesture, didn’t say a word. Her eyes burned amber as the great banner pole ripped from its moorings and flew with vicious accuracy at Cenred.

 

He dropped his swords with a clang as it impaled him, the impact hard enough to pin him to the wall behind.

 

Again, he just laughed, unfazed by even such a horrific injury.

 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to try better than that.”

 

A furious retort was on her lips but she didn’t need it.

 

She felt the powerful enchantment of the Cup of Life break and there was just a moment’s hesitation before the guards began to explode, leaving black clouds of nothingness in their wake. Several of the scorpions were dead but the rest had men in their claws, looking almost perturbed as they vanished and they were denied the pleasure of killing them.

 

Morgause turned back to Cenred. All his cocky amusement was gone, a fearful realisation on his face as he looked down to see blood pouring from his impaled abdomen. The magic of the amulet not allowing him to simply disappear like the others. Morgause enjoyed the irony of that.

 

“Does that meet your approval?” she spat viciously.

 

She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her; his eyes were already glassy and dead.

 

Forgetting him in an instant, she hurried to her sister’s side. Arthur was already there, looking pale and worried and completely uncertain. Morgause pushed him aside, gathering Morgana up and cradling her in her lap as she had done over a year ago. Her hand inspected the wound. It was deep and Morgana groaned in pain as she touched it.

 

She couldn’t flee with her like this, couldn’t use magic to transport them away. It was a terrible strain on the body to be moved like that and she wasn’t sure that Morgana would survive it.

 

For the first time in a long while, Morgause felt truly frightened.

 

“I need the Cup of Life,” she said, looking up at Arthur. She could see in his face that he had no wish to see his sister die either. “It can heal her.”

 

The maid Gwen, hurried over, looking battered and bruised but uncaring as she dropped to her knees and held a piece of cloth torn from her own dress to the wound. Morgause nodded at her in thanks.

 

Arthur rose from his knees as if to go and fetch it himself, but at that moment, the sound of running feet filled the courtyard and Merlin appeared. He hurried over to them, obviously wondering who was hurt. His face looked conflicted when he saw Morgana, looking paler by the moment.

 

Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders, half shaking him to attention.

 

“Merlin, we need the Cup, where is it?”

 

The boy looked genuinely sorry.

 

“It’s gone,” he stammered out.


	7. Part Six

Morgause was exhausted come nightfall, having not taken a moment’s rest in near two days. Arthur had been utterly furious with Merlin, calling him all sorts of names, many ‘idiot’ and many more the sort a high born prince shouldn’t even know let alone use.

 

Morgause’s assessment was even less kind, knowing that Merlin had somehow got rid of the Cup on purpose to keep it from them. She had no idea how he’d done it and knew he’d have no qualms about keeping it hidden in the castle letting Morgana die. She would have gone looking for it herself but she didn’t dare leave Morgana alone and vulnerable with these people around.

 

They’d taken Morgana back to her old rooms, laying her on the bed so Morgause could begin the long and difficult process of healing her with magic. There were no guarantees of its success and the first few hours had been agonising as she more than once got the sensation that she was losing her. But Morgana had been strong, heeding her sister’s pleas to fight. Listening to her when she said she needed her.

 

Come late afternoon, Morgause actually breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she’d dismissed the Blood Guard and the scorpions, the urge to kill every last person here diminishing. Morgana was weak and needed to recover but she would live.

 

The physician, Gaius, had come up at dusk offering his assistance only to be met with angry refusal. She remembered all her sister had said about this man, all he’d done to keep her weak and in the dark about her abilities. He’d had no right to do such a thing. To keep her caged and terrified when she should be magnificent.

 

So how dare he offer his help now? Particularly as a man who’d once followed the old ways and had betrayed them so very deeply. As far as she was concerned, he was a traitor and she’d hissed as much as him as she demanded he leave.

 

Even if she had to stay awake for days, she promised, as she came back to sit at Morgana’s bedside stroking her hair tenderly, she wouldn’t allow anyone to come near her again.

 

**********

 

Arthur arrived outside Morgana’s bed chamber to see a rather flustered looking Gaius leaving the room. The old physician had arrived back not more than an hour ago after Arthur had sent a couple of men to fetch him safely home. He’d wasted no time in making himself useful. There were injuries that needing seeing to and he’d immediately set to work. Fortunately they were mostly minor, and Merlin and Gwen were competently dealing with them so Arthur had asked Gaius to offer his services to help Morgana instead.

 

It was apparent that that hadn’t gone well.

 

“I’m sorry, sire,” he said with a heavy sigh. “It seems my assistance is unwelcome.”

 

Arthur nodded, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He’d suspected as much but he couldn’t not offer.

 

“Go and get some rest,” he insisted.

 

“Now why would I do that when there’s others needing my help?” Gaius asked with a dry smile. “I’ll go and check on the king again.”

 

Arthur nodded once more, this time in gratitude. They hadn’t rescued Uther from the dungeon until well after the battle, wanting be sure that no danger remained before they risked moving him. They’d found him unharmed but… Something was wrong. He wasn’t the same man he had been less than a week ago. It was like his very soul had been beaten.

 

Arthur didn’t like to think about what that might mean for the future.

 

Gaius shared his grave look, probably having the same worries, and hurried off.

 

“All quiet?” Arthur asked Sir Leon, turning to the guard who’d offered to stand watch outside Morgana’s chambers whilst others had their injuries seen to or helped their friends. Arthur hadn’t been sure whether he’d offered as protection for her or to guard Camelot against her, but he’d accepted the assistance nonetheless.

 

Leon nodded but looked very ill at ease.

 

“She’s been doing spells in there all day,” he said nervously, clearly referring to Morgause. “The king would not like it. Even using magic to heal…Especially after…”

 

He trailed off, apparently not wanting to risk speaking out of turn.

 

“My father’s in no fit state to agree or disagree with anything at the moment,” Arthur replied grimly before knocking on the door.

 

There was no response but he wasn’t told to leave either so, after giving it a beat, he opened the door and entered. This was his kingdom after all.

 

Morgause was sitting by the bedside in her undershirt and trousers, armour removed. She still looked fierce though, hand on the hilt of her sword as he entered, the weapon resting ready on the bedside table. She didn’t remove her hand for a long beat, as if judging whether he meant her any harm.

 

In all honesty, his feelings for this woman were conflicted. She been the conductor of all this; she’d taken Morgana and poisoned her against them. It had been her plan to take over Camelot, deposing his father and leaving himself and his allies on the run. But she’d also proved herself a proficient warrior and if it hadn’t been for her assistance, Camelot would still undoubtedly be under Cenred’s control.

 

And he couldn’t doubt that she loved Morgana, he’d seen that in her face when Cenred had stabbed her.

 

“How is she?” he asked cautiously. Morgana looked even paler than normal and his instinct was to touch her forehead and see if she had a fever but he dare not get any closer.

 

“She needs rest but she’ll live,” Morgause said tightly.

 

He wasn’t sure if that was anger or a deep distrust.

 

“She’ll be safe here until then,” Arthur promised.

 

Morgause’s expression didn’t change. Clearly that meant little to her.

 

“I’m a man of my word, Morgause,” he added solemnly. “If she’s told you anything about me, it should be that.”

 

After a moment, the sorceress nodded. A temporary truce of sorts settling between them. Not that Morgause seemed any keener on him or his company.

 

“Is there anything I can get you?” he asked after an awkward moment of silence.

 

“No,” she said, quite firm in her denial.

 

“Anything you need to help her?”

 

“No.”

 

He sighed in frustration.

 

“Fine,” he relented, tired and not in the mood for niceties now. “If you want to rest or need anything, tell the guard. I’ll have my manservant sent up.”

 

Morgause barked out a suddenly laugh, a sound so violent and unexpected that it almost startled him.

 

“Do you think I’d let him anywhere near her?”

 

Arthur frowned, confused. “I know Merlin doesn’t exactly fill anyone with confidence to look at him and he did lose the Cup but…well, he’s not totally useless.”

 

“Of yes,” Morgause replied sarcastically. “He’s quite gifted with poison.”

 

That didn’t help his confusion at all.

 

“I don’t-”

 

Morgause looked at him with disdain and perhaps even a little pleasure in her eyes. As though she was going to enjoy telling him this.

 

“Did you really think that I’d harmed her?” Morgause asked, almost as if believed she was talking to a fool. “When I took her after calling off the knights last year? Did you think that I’d injured her? That I’d knocked her out, kidnapped her? Or is that what he told you had happened?”

 

Arthur didn’t like her tone at all. He’d been a victim of her lies before but this…Whatever she was saying…At the time he had assumed that Morgause had attacked Morgana and taken her. And Merlin had said as much. But, now, seeing how she was with her…

 

“You invaded my home and tried to kill my father,” he said stonily, hating how much she spoke down to him. Wanting to paint her to be the duplicitous villain so he was justified in not believing anything she had to say. “What else should I have thought?”

 

Morgause huffed.

 

“I would never hurt her. She’s precious to me.”

 

Her eyes burned almost as fiercely as if she was doing magic.

 

“I saved her,” she continued. “He was the one who gave her the poison to drink. Your boy. Merlin.”

 

**********

 

Men tried to talk to Arthur as he passed them in the corridors, but he ignored them all, heading with a single minded anger to the throne room where a make-shift infirmary was set up. He didn’t have to enter it to find Merlin though. His manservant was walking along the corridor outside, a bowl of water in his hands. He smiled when he saw Arthur but that expression soon faltered as he saw the look on the prince’s face.

 

The bowl clattered to the floor as Arthur pushed him roughly through a nearby door.

 

“Did you poison her?” he demanded, getting straight to the point.

 

Merlin floundered a moment, gaping wordlessly. That seemed as much an admission of guilt to Arthur as anything.

 

“Did you?!” Arthur asked again, his voice rising.

 

This time Merlin found his words.

 

“Yes,” he admitted, standing up straight. Defiant.

 

Arthur looked at him, horrified, taking a step back. He’d so hoped that it wasn’t true, that it’d been just another of Morgause’s lies. He berated Merlin a lot, both to his face and in front of others. But the truth of the matter was that he trusted him more than he did most. This just made no sense.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because she was the vessel for the spell that was putting everyone to sleep,” Merlin answered, sounding a strange mixture of apologetic and matter of fact. “She had to be stopped or we all would have been dead.”

 

Arthur shook his head, finding it hard to take this all in. He supposed, in a way, it made even more sense of this whole mess, more pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Everything was suddenly abundantly clear; how and why Morgause had managed to turn Morgana against them so successfully, why she didn’t trust them. Morgana was a sorceress and someone in the court had poisoned her to stop her assisting in the king’s death. A king who hated her kind and would have seen her dead. A king who was secretly her father and had lied to her all these years. He didn’t agree with her in the slightest - thought she was a fool to have kept all this to herself - but it made greater sense now.

 

He thought he would be angry with Merlin. Knew he should be in fact. But he couldn’t bring himself to be so. Merlin had been trying to save him and his father, that much was clear and Morgana had allied herself with their enemy.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked with a heavy sigh, rubbing at his temples. Maybe he could have prevented all this if only he’d known sooner.

 

Merlin looked at him solemnly.

 

“Would you have believed me? Would you have thought her capable of it?”

 

Once, he wouldn’t have done.

 

“You should have said something,” Arthur said, calmer now. He understood that Merlin was trying to do the right thing but the way it had turned out… “We might have been able to help her. But now…”

 

Morgana was angry at them all, that much was clear. And she always had been volatile.

 

Merlin nodded, looking sad himself as though he’d had that thought more than once. “I’m sorry. For you. I know you cared for her.”

 

Arthur sighed again, running his hands back through his hair. This was all such a mess.

 

And he still did care for her, making it all the more difficult.

 

“Did you know she’s a…that she can do magic?”

 

Sorceress? Witch? He found it difficult to say either word even if he had known which was correct.

 

“I suspected it. The dreams she had…”

 

Arthur nodded. Of course. Morgana’s nightmares where she insisted she saw things that were going to happen. He should have realised himself. Or maybe he had and hadn’t really wanted to believe it.

 

Magic was evil, after all. He’d been taught that from the moment he was old enough to know words. And wasn’t this just another confirmation of that? Morgana hadn’t betrayed them until she’d found that she had magic. Look what it had done to her, what it had turned her into.

 

Yet he couldn’t help but wonder what she would have become if the kingdom hadn’t been governed by Uther’s hatred.

 

Hate bred hate and everything that came with it.

 

He closed his eyes a moment, rubbing them as if giving himself a chance to gather it all together again.

 

“You still should have told me.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

 

Arthur bent down and picked up the bowl that had clattered in with them, handing it back to Merlin. There was so much more that needed to be said but he had neither the energy or the patience for it, not at that moment.

 

“You did well today. With the Cup.”

 

It seemed unfair to send him away berated for trying to do the right thing, no matter how badly it had gone. And it was as close to an apology as Arthur was going to give.

 

Merlin smiled a little at the acknowledgement.

 

“Despite me losing it, hmm?”

 

“Well I wasn’t going to mention that but now you say it…”

 

Merlin’s smile turned into a grin as he hurriedly interrupted him.

 

“I’d better go and get some more water,” he said, walking to the door.

 

Arthur called his attention back just a moment.

 

“Merlin,” he said, “no more secrets, okay?”

 

A flicker of something passed over Merlin’s face but then he smiled and nodded.

 

**********

 

Morgause expected Arthur again when there was another knock on the door a short while later. But he was probably still yelling at his servant - beating him if there was any sense of justice - and it was Morgana’s former maid who entered instead.

 

“Guinevere,” she said with a nod. There was power in knowing someone’s name.

 

“It’s just Gwen,” the woman said, shifting uncomfortably and yet the same time her chin came up, determined, like she didn’t really want to be here but wasn’t going to let that stop her. “I brought you some fresh water.”

 

She placed the jug and two cups on the side table, not that Morgana would be up for drinking for a while yet. But the gesture showed care.

 

Gwen poured one cup and passed it to Morgause. She took it with a delicate hand, looking down at the contents before sniffing them. Clearly distrustful.

 

“It’s not poison,” Gwen insisted.

 

“You can never be too careful in this castle from what I hear,” Morgause said with a little venom. The water was unsullied though, she would have sensed it if it wasn’t.

 

“Yes,” Gwen said quietly. “I heard.”

 

And she looked deeply troubled by the fact.

 

There was silence for a moment.

 

“She spoke well of you,” Morgause said eventually, not even sure why she was telling the other woman this. Maybe she just wanted to understand what Morgana saw in her. And she had been a little impressed with her that day. She’d been strong where other women would have cowed. The Old Religion had great respect for strong women.

 

“We knew each other a long time,” Gwen replied, drawing the curtains.

 

That answer was evasive and it was hard to tell if she was just avoiding praise or there was more to it. The ‘knew’ was quite telling though - clearly she didn’t feel close to her former mistress any more.

 

Morgause couldn’t say she was unhappy about that.

 

“It wasn’t just her body your friend Merlin poisoned,” Morgause said.

 

Gwen didn’t really react to that, busy tidying the room. Old habit, Morgause guessed.

 

“You’re responsible for the change in her, not him,” she replied. “Everything was well until she met you.”

 

“Well?” Morgause scoffed. “Living in a prison of fear because of what you are? Not understanding your gifts? Being lied to and deceived by those around and feeling more and more isolated as fear grows? Is that ‘well’?”

 

“You turned her into a…You turned her against her friends.”

 

“I didn’t have to. I simply showed her that her ‘friends’ hated her kind.”

 

Gwen seemed to bristle at that, anger beneath her calm exterior.

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“You stand by and let Uther murder them. So many innocent people. Why should she have been any different?”

 

“Because we love her,” Gwen said.

 

Morgause looked at her steadily. “And so the lives of all the others meant nothing to you. I see.”

 

Gwen clearly didn’t like being judged. And as well she might not because like all those in Camelot she would come out poorly in the conclusion. Morgana had told Morgause about her. About how her own father had died, accused of witchcraft, and yet Gwen was obedient to her king. It galled Morgause greatly to see such terrible acceptance.

 

“You’ve turned her into a killer who hates her friends,” Gwen replied, looking steadily at her, not intimidated.

 

Such an interesting mixture of meek and strong.

 

“I saved her,” Morgause reasoned. “And if you can’t see that you’re as blind as your lover.”

 

Gwen instantly blushed at that and made her excuses to leave.

 

*********

 

There were too many images for Morgana to process them all at once.

 

A funeral, the sky dark and the rain falling. A marriage and coronation, people smiling, celebrations in the street. A table, perfectly round, old words written on it and a dozen swords laid on the surface. Flowers blooming and fading. The sound of children vanishing as though they were never there at all. A man wearied by expectation and duty. A lonely woman brushing her fingertips against another’s and feeling a long forgotten rush of passion.

 

A battle, bloody and brutal. A tall, pale boy laying dead with a triumphant look permanently etched on his face.

 

A small boat. Big enough for two.

 

But she didn’t see the occupants as she awoke.

 

Back in Camelot.


	8. Part Seven

Morgana slept for most of the next day too and even when she awoke, she still felt exhausted, barely able to sit and eat the light meal Gwen brought for her.

 

She barely looked at her former maid. She had no desire to speak to her, a great rift between them, words of thanks sticking in her throat. Things could never be the same between them so why resurrect a ghost of their former friendship?

 

Morgause, on the other hand, she was constantly attentive too. Her sister never left her side and Morgana worried about her. She was looking pale and tired, but her attention was entirely fixed upon Morgana, foregoing her own needs. She assured her that her strength would return in a day or two. That her body was still healing itself inside and she would have to be careful.

 

Morgana didn’t care. She worried more about the magic Morgause had used to heal such a wound and what danger it had put her in. Such a spell would have been powerful and could take much out of a person. She didn’t want her left weak and vulnerable to attack from those here.

 

A soft knock on her door signaled Gwen’s arrival yet again and Morgana tensed in anticipation. But it was Arthur.

 

“You’re looking better,” he said quietly, an awkward glance at Morgause. Clearly he wasn’t comfortable saying anything less formal with her around.

 

To Morgana’s surprise, Morgause leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I need to freshen up. I’ll be just a moment.”

 

She withdrew to the side room with the wash basin, just out of sight behind a heavy curtain and Morgana was puzzled, wondering why she would choose to give them such privacy. Morgause did everything for a reason yet Morgana couldn’t figure this one out.

 

Arthur was silent for a long moment, arms folded across his chest, expression suggesting that he had no idea what to say. He was thoughtful for once, and she almost mocked him for it before he even said a word.

 

“You planned to take Camelot back once we’d defeated Cenred, didn’t you?”

 

It was hardly the friendliest topic of conversation, but Morgana respected him for his honesty.

 

“Yes,” she said, seeing no reason to hide it.

 

“Because you think it’s your right?” he asked.

 

Morgana could have laughed at that. Being her right made it easier, but it had never been the reason, surely he understood that by now?

 

“Because your father murders my kind,” she spat angrily.

 

“Magic is banned under our laws, Morgana. It hurts people. You’re evidence enough of that.”

 

“It hurt him,” she corrected sharply, ignoring his dig. “And everyone else has to suffer for his mistakes.”

 

Arthur looked almost surprised.

 

“She told you the same lies,” he said with a frown. “And you believed her.”

 

“You’re a fool not to.”

 

He was silent for a moment. Troubled by the venom in her tone? He didn’t show any outward signs of being suddenly convinced about the truth of Igraine’s death. He seemed more confused as to why she believed it.

 

“What happened to you, Morgana?”

 

“Why?” she challenged. “Is there something wrong with me?”

 

He looked torn between saying ‘yes’ and ‘no’.

 

“You’ve changed,” he eventually settled on, seeming greatly saddened by the fact.

 

“I’ve got better,” she said. “I’m stronger now.”

 

“You’re harder.”

 

He was angry beneath the steadiness of his words and, much to her annoyance that got to her, wondering how he dare judge her after all he’d done for his father’s wicked crusade. It seemed he could still get under her skin as much as she could his.

 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she insisted, voice hard and tight as she felt the need to justify herself. “To be horrified by what you are. To know that everyone you love would turn on you in an instant if they knew.”

 

“You can’t believe that,” Arthur said, apparently absolutely certain that he would have done otherwise.

 

Morgana didn’t believe him in the slightest.

 

“Why not? When have you actually lifted a finger to help someone ‘guilty’ of witchcraft? I saw what you did to the druids. Why would I put my life in your hands? Your father would have burned me for what I am and you would have stood by and let him. The good little soldier as always.”

 

The thought had terrified her more than once before she’d been found by Morgause, that she couldn’t even rely on Arthur to be on her side. That she truly had no one.

 

Arthur shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

 

“What, like you didn’t let him grab my throat for disagreeing with me? Like you stopped him when he locked me in the dungeons?”

 

Uther had shown signs of violence towards her without her showing a hint of magic. She’d dreaded to think of what he’d have done if he’d found out. And Arthur had always just let it happen. He’d berated Uther mildly for his actions towards her at best and seemed to agree with him at worse. Tutting at her and scolding her for angering the king. Telling her he couldn’t always protect her. How could she have ever trusted Arthur with her life?

 

Arthur was quiet for a long moment.

 

“I’m not my father, Morgana,” he eventually said. “You told me I was a better man.”

 

“Maybe I was mistaken,” she said harshly, remembering his speech when Elena arrived about wanting to carrying on his father’s good work in his own reign. That had haunted her greatly.

 

“Maybe,” he said solemnly. “But if I was his pawn, do you think I would have let you and your sister live?”

 

Morgana was silenced for a moment. That much was very true.

 

A small part of her found hope in that. The idea blossoming again that King Arthur could be much different from his father. But actions spoke louder than words and he had much to prove yet.

 

Hope wasn’t something she trusted any more.

 

“Do you trust me?” Arthur asked, almost as if he’d read her thoughts.

 

“No,” she said bluntly, not bothering to cushion that. “Not whilst you’re Uther’s loyal son.”

 

Arthur nodded in acceptance.

 

“No man reigns forever,” he said quietly. The suggestion of a different future perhaps? “I understand why you’ve done this Morgana. That doesn’t mean I think you were right.”

 

She smiled coolly.

 

“I suspect we’re going to come to that conclusion over a lot of things.”

 

He nodded again, his tone more formal now. Like he was talking to a foreign emissary and not his own sister.

 

“I know there are a lot of wounds to heal in this kingdom. I know things aren’t perfect. But my father has kept us safe.”

 

“At what cost?”

 

There was a heavy pause as he seemed to contemplate that. She knew Arthur, knew he didn’t like to think when he could act on instinct instead. Clearly all these changes and revelations were troubling to him. She suspected it would be a long while before he came to any sort of conclusion.

 

Which, she supposed, was a bonus to her. She had no intention of stopping trying to remove Uther from his throne, and Arthur must have realised that, but he was too hampered by his former affection for her to do what a harder soldier already would have. Eliminate the threat whilst it was weak.

 

“You’re not going to have it easy, you know,” she said, eyeing him carefully. “I’ve seen it. There’s times of peace, yes. But heartache and death too. And even she will betray you.”

 

Arthur frowned. He looked like he was about to ask her what she meant but then he closed his mouth again. As if he’d decided he didn’t want to know after all.

 

“We’ll talk again later,” he nodded stiffly. “Get some rest.”

 

Morgana expected Morgause to reappear the moment he left and when she didn’t, she frowned, calling out for her sister. On getting no reply, Morgana eased herself gingerly out of bed and shuffled over the side room where the sound of splashing water still came from.

 

The water splashed of its own accord though and the room was empty.

 

**********

 

Morgause moved through the castle in the guise of a maid, perfecting her look as she went. Assured but not too confident. She knew the place, but she didn’t own it.

 

No one questioned her. Many bustled about, restoring what they considered to be rightful order to things, tearing down the old banners and repairing any remaining damage from the fighting. Some glanced at Morgause, but they would see the face of a sweet blonde haired girl - one who none of them would have known but who had died because of their king - and just assumed that she was a servant going about her business.

 

She stopped outside Uther’s bed chambers, kneeling to scrub the floor, working diligently towards the door. She almost smirked as a guard held the door to the antechamber open for her so she could continue.

 

Uther was in the next room, surrounded by men - Gaius, counsellors, knights. He was still in bed, had been ever since he’d been rescued from the dungeons. Rumour had it he’d flitted between listless sadness and furious rage, both cursing his daughter and sobbing over her.

 

It was a torture sweeter than any Morgause could have dreamt up for him.

 

It would almost be too easy to kill him now, to get as close as she could, stand and fire a flaming post straight through his diseased heart. But Morgause already had another plan and she wouldn’t risk it even for the satisfaction of securing his death. She certainly wouldn’t risk getting hurt herself and leaving Morgana at the mercy of these people.

 

Arthur entered and walked passed her, sidestepping the damp patch where she’d been cleaning - whether to avoid making the floor dirty again or to save his boots from the wet, she wasn’t sure - heading into the bed chamber. She couldn’t hear what he said but she could hear Uther’s anger, Arthur trying to reason for a moment and then Uther’s ranting response.

 

“Are you mad?! I want them dead! Executed for high treason! Every one of them! Every person who so much as breathes the mention of magic!”

 

Arthur hurriedly stormed passed her again like a cat with his tail alight.

 

“Do you hear me?!” Uther bellowed after him.

 

Morgause snorted a laugh. Had the young Prince actually tried to reason with him? Surely he must know his father better than that? Uther’s hatred seemed deeper than ever and if he hadn’t been in the mood for negotiation before…

 

Abandoning her bucket, she stood up and walked away, her manner entirely different this time. The confident walk of a High Priestess of the Old Religion who was determined to protect her people.

 

If Uther was making demands for their heads, then it was clear where they stood. And it was high time for she and Morgana to leave.

 

**********

 

The flowers were wilting a little under the warm summer sunshine. Even in the shade of the tree they sat under, it was hot. Not that Morgana really minded. She was still healing and constant chill shivering through her bones. It’d been her idea to come and sit outside, to try and settle herself. Ever since returning home from Camelot she’d been uneasy.

 

Morgause moved serenely as she crossed the gardens of the castle to join her. She, on the other hand, seemed surprisingly at ease with everything considering how badly things had gone. They’d lost their most powerful ally, Morgana no longer had her position in Camelot from which to help their plots, and Uther was more bent on killing those of magic than ever. Hardly a rousing success.

 

“You are troubled, Morgana,” her sister said, coming to sit beside her.

 

The way Morgana was distractedly shredding blades of grass had probably given that away even if her manner in the past few days hadn’t.

 

“Why would I not be?” she asked bitterly, still surprised her sister was so calm about it all. “I failed you. We lost Camelot and most of our advantages.”

 

Morgause reached out and cupped her cheek, forcing her to look up at her.

 

“You didn’t fail me,” she said firmly, letting her see the truth of that in her eyes. “If there is any fault it belongs to me. I should have seen through Cenred’s trick. He was more shrewd than I’d given him credit for.”

 

Morgana smiled a little.

 

“Apparently not if he thought attacking me in front of you was a good idea.”

 

Morgause returned her affectionate look.

 

“Indeed.” She moved her hand to hold Morgana’s. “But the endeavour was not entirely wasted. Uther’s mind has been weakened by this. The more inconsistent he is as a ruler, the more his people will doubt him. Which is only good for us.”

 

“I suppose so.”

 

Morgana would prefer him not to be ruling at all.

 

“And Arthur…” The expression on Morgause’s face was one of intrigue. “He shows…promise. He’s an honourable man but his honour is directed the wrong way. If we could make him see the truth about his father...”

 

Morgana laughed bitterly. “Arthur is entirely blinded to his faults.”

 

“Even a blind man cannot hide from an inescapable truth.”

 

Morgana wasn’t sure if she was simply too distrustful to believe that.

 

“And in the meantime,” she pointed out, “whilst we wait for Arthur to find this truth, Uther is still King and more of our people die.”

 

This couldn’t be a waiting game. Morgana wouldn’t stand by any more - like she had for so many years - and see people executed for their very existence.

 

“Then we need to offer haven and protection,” Morgause said.

 

“Here? Uther won’t allow you to create a sanctuary for those of magic inside his borders. He’ll never stop attacking us.”

 

And he only needed to be lucky once.

 

Morgause smiled broadly.

 

“Whoever said anything about bringing them here, my dear Morgana? There is a kingdom ripe for the taking after all.”

 

Morgana frowned at her a moment before she realised what she was referring to. She knew her sister had been brewing a plan but…

 

“Cenred’s kingdom?”

 

Morgause nodded.

 

“We have no claim to that throne,” Morgana said quietly.

 

But Morgause was pleased, as though she’d been keeping this to herself for some time and was invigorated by the opportunity to share.

 

“No one else does either,” she said. “Cenred has no heir, his army is gone and the few lords of his council will be easily persuaded to accept us. One way or another.”

 

Morgana wasn’t so sure. It sounded too good to be true.

 

“Someone will claim it,” Morgause said, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “If it’s us then we can make a kingdom that is a haven to the old ways. That celebrates them and brings them back to their rightful place in these lands. And punishes those who harm our own.”

 

Morgana had never heard her sound more passionate about anything and it instantly made her want to do it.

 

“We would all but be declaring ourselves an enemy of Camelot…” she said, sounding more convinced if somewhat wary. “Uther won’t like us on his border.”

 

Morgause smiled, so much power and assurance in the look.

 

“Let them come. We’ll create a kingdom to rival Camelot. To better it. To beat it down if it continues to defy us.” She brought Morgana’s hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it. “And it will have a most magnificent queen.”

 

It took Morgana a moment to understand her meaning.

 

“Me?” she asked, surprised. Morgause was their leader, the High Priestess.

 

“You’re the daughter of a king and more than fit for it. Some people are born to be queen.”

 

Morgause had that look in her eyes again, one that seemed to say that she had never seen anything more wonderful that the woman sitting in front of her.

 

Morgana couldn’t help but smile at her.

 

“You are too kind to me, sister.”

 

A strange sort of hesitation came across Morgause’s face that Morgana had never seen before. Morgause looked down, nervous.

 

The air around them seemed to pause.

 

“That endearment was use a lot by the priestesses of the old religion,” she said cautiously. “We are a sisterhood. It doesn’t mean we’re related.”

 

For a long moment, Morgana’s mind refused to take those words in, as though it was trying to protect her by not acknowledging them. When it did, she shook her head, denying it. But the truth was in Morgause’s eyes, and Morgana felt like her insides had been hollowed out as she realised what the other woman was saying.

 

Morgana’s hand went limp, her body numb and her head spun so badly she was surprised she didn’t faint. It didn’t matter, she tried to tell herself quickly. It changed nothing. They were still of the same kind, they still believed the same thing.

 

Yet the security she felt was suddenly gone. She felt betrayed. And alone again.

 

“Why did you lie to me?” she croaked out in a whisper.

 

Morgause looked terribly upset, grabbing both Morgana’s hands and drawing her closer.

 

“I didn’t, not intentionally. I thought you were my sister. That Gorlois was your father too.” She stroked her cheek with utter tenderness, Morgana frozen under the touch she’d once loved. “When you found out that it was Uther, you were so disturbed by the notion, I didn’t want to bring you more pain. I didn’t want to make you do something reckless and risk losing you.”

 

Morgana felt tears burning at her eyes, shaking her head. Why couldn’t she have kept it secret? She could have happily lived not knowing.

 

“Why are you telling me now then?”

 

Morgause was silent. Then, as though she had made a decision, her hand dropped to Morgana’s shoulder and drew her closer. Her nose nudged softly against her cheek but Morgana didn’t realise that she intended to kiss her until Morgause’s lips brushed, sweet and tender, over hers.

 

Morgana had never felt anything more incredible in her life. Suddenly, everything was warm and right again. Better.

 

“Because,” Morgause breathed softly against her lips, “I could no longer suppress the urge to do that.”

 

It was an urge Morgana could appreciate, tangling her hands in Morgause’s hair as she pulled her closer for a deeper, intense kiss that meant the world to her. Now she finally understood what had been missing in her liaisons with Lily; she wasn’t Morgause.

 

“Make me yours,” Morgana pleaded softly, breath warm and sweet.

 

Morgause was happy to oblige.

 

Her hands were truly magic, skirting over Morgana's body as they kissed most desperately. Morgana wanted all of her and everything she had. She wanted to hide in her and never leave. The fastenings on her dress came away easily, Morgana not caring that they were outside. Nothing mattered as long as she was with Morgause. Everything was well as long as she had her love.

 

She shivered as Morgause drew the dress from her shoulder with the greatest of care, kissing along her collarbone. She’d seen her naked before of course but this was different. The way she looked at Morgana now with such passionate awe, it made Morgana shiver.

 

“So beautiful,” Morgause murmured, in appreciation, pulling the dress over her head and quickly ridding Morgana of her under garments before drawing her back to her lap. Her hands skimmed over Morgana’s body reverently, gliding over the soft flesh of her breasts as she kissed her again. Morgana pressed into those touches, not caring if it made her wanton.

 

“I have wanted to do this so long,” Morgause confessed hotly. “My beautiful sorceress.”

 

Morgana didn’t get an opportunity to respond to that, gasping softly as the other woman tilted her back and her lips found her breasts. She couldn’t help rocking her hips and she felt Morgause smile against her flesh.

 

“My sweet girl…”

 

She was so possessive, and Morgana adored it.

 

And teasing, she realised as Morgause’s hand slid down her stomach, caressing carefully over her healing scar before going lower and stroking softly across her curls. Morgana was wet and needy, whimpering gently as she was beautifully tormented.

 

She cried out with abandon when those teasing fingers finally slid inside her, thumb circling that spot of pleasure as the other fingers thrust. She was curled onto Morgause’s lap, straddling her, holding her, rocking desperately. Her head was tilted back, hair tumbling over her shoulders as she gasped and writhed. Morgause kept whispering to her, telling her how magnificent and beautiful she was. Telling her how much she loved her.

 

She called out Morgause’s name in bliss and devotion as the pleasure reached its peak, not caring who might hear her.

 

Morgause would keep her safe.

 

The other woman kissed her slowly, a pleased smile on her lips that turned to pleasure as Morgana started to undress her too after taking just a moment to recover. She was flushed and still panting slightly and quite desperate to see Morgause.

 

She was just as beautiful as she’d imagined, all pale skin and long, delicate limbs. Small, perfect breasts and gently tapered hips. Morgana laid her back in the grass, taking time to adore her, kissing down her collarbone and tracing her ribs. Taking each dusky nipple into her mouth and caressing it with her tongue. She loved how Morgause moaned, letting her customary control slip as her hands moved through Morgana’s hair and she arched. It was nothing though in comparison to how she reacted when Morgana slid down her stomach. The look in her eyes was pure desire, eager and burning, groaning softly as Morgana kissed her soft inner thighs. But she didn’t tease her glorious sorceress too long before her tongue starting to explore her intimately. Morgause writhed sensually, moaning in pleasure, hips rocking and hair wildly spread out beneath her. She looked like a goddess in Morgana’s eyes. She tasted heavenly and when she parted her legs further Morgana felt incredible.

 

When she found her release, crying out Morgana’s name, over and over again, Morgana knew she had never heard anything more beautiful.

 

She lay over Morgause afterwards, their legs tangled and bodies pressed together. Morgana’s hair was fanned messily across her back, her hand stroking Morgause’s side with easy intimacy.

 

She couldn’t believe they had suddenly ended up here but it all felt so perfect. So right.

 

“Tomorrow,” Morgause murmured between laying butterfly kisses to Morgana’s shoulder, “we will take the Blood Guard and claim our new land. For tonight we will celebrate. My queen.”

 

She was grinning at Morgana, apparently liking the idea very much.

 

“Now, now, my dearest Morgause,” Morgana teased in return. “Where is it written that a kingdom cannot have two queens?”

 

The kiss Morgause claimed from her at that was passionate enough to last several blissful minutes. Enough to leave her lips swollen and her normally pale skin flushed.

 

“I have a question actually,” Morgana said, unable to stop touching her it seemed, fingers tracing over the curves of her breasts.

 

“Anything, my love.”

 

She adored the sound of that endearment.

 

“If Gorlois was your father and Vivian wasn’t your mother…?”

 

Morgause smiled as though Morgana had stumbled across the most wonderful secret of them all. She took a moment, kissing up her jawline and nibbling on her earlobe gently before whispering just one word to her.

 

“Igraine.”


End file.
